The Secret of the Sunstones, Book 2: The Hermetic Tower
by jeff.howard.78
Summary: A different take on [FFIV]. Continues the saga immediately after the end of Book 1: The Wanton Kingdom. Powerful demons plot in the darkness, new villains emerge, friends become enemies, and incredible powers await - albeit at a terrible price. The journey continues, and the price of failure is a fate worse than death. The heroes must now face their greatest challenges yet.
1. Overview and Forward

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 **The Secret of the Sunstones**

 **Book 2:**  
 **The Hermetic Tower**

 _By Jeffrey Howard_

 _\- Updated 12-28-2017 -_

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 **her·met·ic** (hər-mĕt'-ĭk)

 _adj._

1\. Completely sealed, especially against the escape or entry of air.  
2\. Impervious to outside interference or influence: the hermetic confines of an isolated life.  
3\. often **Hermetic  
** a) _Mythology._ Of or relating to Hermes Trismegistus or the works ascribed to him.  
b) Having to do with the occult sciences, especially alchemy; magical.

 _True Hermetic Transmutation is a Mental Art. The All is Mind; the Universe is Mental._

 _\- The Kybalion_

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 **Author's Overview / Forward**

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Hello Final Fantasy Fans and Readers,

I'm back with an all new chapter of the Secret of the Sunstones saga. Today is my first unveiling, but I will continue to post new sections about once per week, if all goes well. I'm still providing polish to Book 1, but it feels like I'm close to finishing it, so I wanted to continue the series for readers who have finished the first book.

For those just tuning in, I'll say up front that Book 1: The Wanton Kingdom is required reading. This is a continuous story, and I don't expect anyone to enjoy the second book without having read the first. Fortunately, the entire first book has already been posted. You can find it in this section, or linked to my profile.

Again, this is a multi-year effort that's the accumulation of so many thoughts and ideas, so much reader feedback, and plenty of rework. I'm proud of the quality that I'm delivering, and hope that people enjoy my work and are willing to offer periodic reviews. It really does make a difference to a writer's motivation to hear from his readers, so please take the time to do so. Thank you.

-Jeffrey Howard

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 **Updates**

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This section is to document significant changes to existing chapters. The site already does a fine job updating the story every time new chapters are added, so those will not be listed below. Note that minor updates are made on a consistent basis, based on feedback from beta-readers or reviewers. Those will not be listed below.

 _3-31-2016:_ This is the initial posting. I'm literally buzzing with excitement. :-)

 _9-01-2016:_ After a several-month long leave of absence, I'm ready to return with new sections. My apologies for those following this story, but I felt it was necessary to do more revisions to some of the earlier sections of this book and of Book 1 before I was happy enough with the quality to start reposting. So please excuse the delays, and if anyone is still around, enjoy the new content. :-)

 _1-28-2017:_ Not much to report, but it looks like reviews have once again tapered off. I'll continue updating for the time being, but hopefully people start to show an interest once again. I've also been going back to revise Chapter 8, so there's plenty of fresh content. Don't forget to add reviews now and then if you're enjoying the story. It's a shame that there always seems to be more lurkers than reviewers here.

 _3-20-2017:_ Wow, what a difference a few weeks can make. Thanks so much for SpacemanSpiff and Bob Story Builder for returning to this story with some fantastic reviews. It has definitely inspired me to keep on going.

 _12-28-2017:_ We're about to entire a new year, and a lot of progress has been made. This is longer than the usual novel, and I know that there are at least a few people enjoying this episodic adventure. I am mid-way through Chapter 10, which puts me about half way through the story. Unbelievable, I know. There's still a lot left to go, but it's about to get really exciting. I hope more are willing to join before the end. Thanks to every one of the regulars here, including Waging Wonder, who has been posting quite a few recent reviews. I really am happy to have the feedback. Thanks!

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	2. Chapter 8, Part I

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 **Chapter 8: The Elfen King**

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 **Part I**

 _Afternoon of Terminus, Twenty-Eighth Day of Autumnmoon_

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From the deck of the _Heron_ , Bram Morrison felt a gentle breeze against his cheeks. He brushed a few strands of his argent-colored hair away from his face as he glanced over the railing one last time. Far below, the ruins of Angkor's capital still smoldered. Buried under the ashes were the seeds of King Richard's avarice, which he had sown for years in the name of prosperity. Harvests of gold kept his aristocracy content within walls that were once believed to be impenetrable. But now, the fortress had fallen, the crop of wealth withered, and the fields of indulgence destroyed. All that remained was the scent of burning wood and phosphorous.

Bram shook his head. Richard's madness had made his city an open target, and his death wounded the prideful country. Even so, it was not the end for them. Beyond of the Angkorian elite was a hive of hard-working men and women. Once the military had a chance to recover, airships full of angry soldiers would swarm the area. New leaders would vie for control, and whoever succeeded would need to make a choice. They could either harness Angkor's vast resources for retaliation, or direct them instead at the greater evil—that of the Ahrimen.

Bram hoped Richard's successor would choose the latter. But until then, Bram's old home was a very dangerous place. He was eager to leave, but his good friend Géorg Töller convinced him to stay long enough to attend an audience with the surrogate king of Kitezh, Heinz Unruh. The newly-sworn Kitezhian captain felt it was important to keep his liege apprised of Bram's adventures, so he directed his ship a short distance north, above the Snowy Mountains, where they would be safe from the hornet's nest.

Cedric Curtis piloted the _Heron_ while Bram joined Géorg upon the bridge of his Kitezhian ship. The knight noticed right away that the room had been prepared for spell-casting. Géorg explained that the materials and chalk-based drawings on the floor helped to establish a long-distance communication with the Kitezhian capital. Sure enough, when the Kitezhian captain gave the signal, a beam of light rose up from the floor and created a window into a room full of distinguished men and women. Géorg introduced Bram to his surrogate king, multiple high-ranking officials, and Kitezh's most powerful white wizardress, the venerable Lady White.

Those on the other side gawked with open mouths and raised brows as they gazed upon the man who had once been a Gnostic Knight. Not long ago, Bram was their enemy. But now he stood radiant and transformed—the first Grigori to grace the land in almost a thousand years. Though Bram's body was battered and bruised, his gleaming silver armor stole the breaths from King Unruh and his staff. Men and women of the highest order stood in stunned silence until Bram cleared his throat.

He was eager to tell his story and began with the attack on Koba, his first newsworthy event since leaving Rungholt. He felt it was crucial to introduce Kitezh's leaders right away to Samuel Cortez, since this man was the true villain behind Angkor's aggressions. His goal was the collection of the four sunstones, dangerous artifacts in the wrong hands. Even with just Kitezh's own Gemini Stone, Samuel hid an entire fleet of airships from visual and magical detection. He then enhanced his powers of black magic and captured Koba's Sagittarius Stone, bringing his arsenal of artifacts to three.

Of course, the real magic behind the sunstones came from the Ahrimen—fowl demons of legend who offered their power to humans, but only as a ruse meant to corrupt them. After using the sunstone enough times, a man or woman would become possessed by one of these creatures, allowing them to escape their sunstone prison. Even worse, gathering all four sunstones in the same place would break the original enchantment, which would also release the Ahrimen into the world. At that point, nothing would stop the ensuing chaos and ruin.

Bram knew King Unruh and his staff were captivated as they stared in stunned silence. He decided to move on to the story of his tragic shipwreck that landed him in Minoa. Ironically, this was the same place where he had first captured the Pisces Stone, the sunstone that had started it all. It was a sad tale, one that had nearly cost him everything he held dear. But at the same time, it led him serendipitously to the mystical Oracle, a benevolent being who revealed Bram's Minoan heritage. Bram learned that he was able to perform the ancient art of the Grigori Knights, the only thing capable of vanquishing the Ahrimen.

Lastly, Bram relayed his journey to Angkor via the magical Servant's Highway. One of the Ahrimen—a fearsome beast known as Abaddon—had possessed King Richard, turning a peaceful but shrewd tactician into an aggressive warmonger. With the Ahriman's direction, Angkor's king inflicted terrible suffering, even upon his own citizens. Fortunately, Bram's Grigori powers successfully returned the Ahriman to its prison inside the Pisces Stone, thereby regaining one of Samuel Cortez' artifacts.

In addition, Bram expected Abaddon's defeat to end the compulsion spell afflicting Angkor's military, which would finally put King Richard's reign of terror to an end. Bram hoped that once the Angkorian people came to their senses, they would perhaps become new allies in the fight against the Ahrimen.

As soon as Bram ended his speech, Kitezh's surrogate king seemed eager to pose his first question.

"Thank you for the … extraordinary tale, Sir Morrison. However, one of my priorities as king of Kitezh is to ensure the return of our sunstone. It sounds like you now hold the one originally from Minoa, but do you know where we can find our artifact?"

Bram nodded. "Yes, Sire. We believe it's still in the hands of Samuel Cortez, as well as Richard's former First Advisor, Virgil Garvey."

Unruh crossed his arms, and his eyes narrowed. "Tell me about these criminals. Do you have some leads on where they might be found?"

Bram responded confidently. "I do, Your Majesty. My companions and I learned many things during our escape from Angkor. We know that Samuel and Virgil seek the final sunstone, the one protected by the clerics of Vineta. However, we've also learned that King Arcesilaus of the Elflands has beaten them to it. We're not sure why he decided to intervene, but we know he has the Capricorn Stone in his possession. Your Highness, my highest priority is to find him before Samuel or Virgil gets to him first."

Bram carefully refrained from mentioning his meeting with Kane, or the bargain he struck for Rosa's life. Either piece of information would likely breed a level of distrust with the Kitezhian king. Bram still remembered his first meeting with the former Minister of Security—a chilly encounter that served to reveal the man's natural bias. Bram worried that Unruh's old leanings might still influence his decisions.

Of course, Bram was not surprised at all when the new king's first expression was one of alarm. The revelation of Arcesilaus' theft no doubt came as quite a shock, especially since the Elflands were direct neighbors of Kitezh to the west.

"This is unprecedented!" Unruh lamented. "Arcesilaus and the clerics have always been on good terms! Why would he have done such a thing? Surely he is not in league with Garvey or Cortez!"

Bram shook his head. "We don't yet know the Elfen king's motives, but if he were aligned with our enemy, he would have already passed on the sunstone. Either way, we can't allow him to possess an artifact that would inevitably corrupt him in the same way as King Richard. We intend to make it our first mission to return the sunstone into the cleric's protection."

The Kitezhian king exhaled deeply. His eyes were distant, as if he were deeply mulling over the news. After a few moments, he faced Bram with the ostensibly amicable face of a politician.

"Sir Morrison, I must admit that—until now—I doubted your good intentions. I was rather surprised that a man steeped in Gnostic ideology could ever become a champion of the Gaian faith. But now, I can no longer deny the miracles you have performed. After witnessing the return of Mister Töller's arm, I have no choice but to become a believer."

"Indeed," Lady White echoed her king's sentiment. "The powers of the Grigori appear to be beyond known wizardry. It is surely miraculous!"

Bram smiled. "I am honored to receive such praise, Madam, especially from a renowned wizardress as yourself."

The knight heard a small grunt from behind. It came from Matthias, who no doubt worried about the means behind Bram's so-called miracle. The knight had used the Pisces Stone to enhance his Grigori magic, a decision that risked putting him in contact with Abaddon's corruption.

At first, when Bram was amid the collapse of Angkor's Substratum, he was desperate for help. He had hoped that his Minoan bloodline and desire for goodness would make him resistant to the Ahriman's evil. At least after his first few attempts, this seemed to be the case. He used the sunstone to restore Cedric's feet, attempt a reversal of Mica's transmutation, and escape the blockage at the end of the Substratum—all with no ill-effects.

However, the experience of restoring Géorg's arm was much different. As soon as he finished the spell, he became faint. Blood drained from his head, and he passed out. He initially assumed it was overexertion, but for a long time afterward he felt angry and anxious. His stomach twisted in knots, leaving him flushed and short of breath.

By the time Kane had arrived to make his demands, Bram felt ready to explode. True, the Templar had done plenty to warrant his anger … but even so, the amount of hatred was unnatural. It was unhinged, unbridled fury.

And it terrified him.

Bram promised himself that he would set the sunstone aside and no longer tempt fate. It had served its purpose, providing immeasurable aid when there was no other option. But now it was time to rely on his own skills, not to mention more practice at taming his Grigori powers.

He was jerked back to attention when Unruh spoke. The king's voice sounded tired and rushed, clearly eager to conclude the conversation.

"Sir Morrison, I wanted once again to extend our thanks for your service in defeating Angkor's tyrant. We wish you good luck in retrieving Vineta's sunstone. Should you ever need our help, please feel confident that Kitezh will stand by your side."

Bram nodded, suddenly aware of one other matter he had wanted to settle—for his own peace of mind.

"Thank you, Your Majesty. But before we depart, I wanted to ask if anyone from Rungholt has heard word from Prince Brandt. I had hoped to find him in Rungholt by now, since I wanted to thank him personally for his assistance in Koba. His leadership was instrumental in readying the city's defenses. There would have been far more casualties had it not been for his and Emperor Zhao Peng's help."

Unruh bared a set of teeth in a facsimile of a smile. Bram detected something beyond the false façade. It was almost … annoyance.

"Unfortunately, the heir is still en route. However, I will be happy to pass on your kind words when he arrives. For now … I must bid you farewell."

Bram bowed gracefully, but hoped he would not need to call upon Kitezh's military when it came to combating his nemeses. Virgil was much too powerful to be confronted by mere soldiers, and as for Samuel … his capture was personal. Bram wanted to be the only one to disburse justice for his brother's crimes.

Just before Kitezh's king was ready to step away, Quon Nan stepped forward. "Your Majesty … may I ask Your Grace for a favor."

Unruh turned back to face the Kenju Warrior. "Of course."

"I would like to request transport for me and my men. Sir Morrison should make haste to Vineta, but we would like to head to our homeland, first. Also … I have not yet spoken to my wife or my emperor since being captured a fortnight ago."

Unruh's face brightened. "Of course, Master Nan. For one who was involved in Angkor's defeat, you have my permission to travel aboard our ships. Mister Töller, please see to it that the Kenju Master of Koba and his men reach their homeland before you return to Rungholt."

"Yes, my Lord," Géorg responded with a bow. With that said, the conversation ended, and the images of Unruh and his Ministry disappeared.

Soon after, the Kitezhian airships prepared their departures. Bram said his goodbyes to Quon and Géorg, somewhat saddened to see his friends leave. Of course, he was glad to have them return to their homelands. The upcoming journey would be long and hard, and Quon deserved to be reunited with his wife and liege. Not to mention that Bram's own journey would be fraught with uncertainty. He would not blame the Kenju Master if he decided not to return. As for Géorg, the newly-promoted captain belonged with his countrymen in their time of healing.

When the Kitezhian airships finally left, Bram, Matthias, and Cedric set their course westward. Angkor's former Grand Craftsman spent the rest of the morning scoping the _Heron_ for damages incurred during the escape, while the gray wizard went straight to his cabin to rest.

For Bram, sleep was still distant. He would need to catch up eventually, but his mind was still churning. It was abuzz with questions, and he needed to put his energy toward answering them. So, when he was finally alone, he went to the ship's bow and placed his hands on the railings. With headwinds blasting refreshingly through his silver strands of hair, he reflected on all that had happened. In the distance, the fourth sunstone beckoned. He could almost feel it calling to him.

Meanwhile, he thought about all the promises he had made … and all the people who depended on him. Poor Mica was still buried under hundreds of spans of rubble, and he wondered how he would ever reach her. Not just the challenge of returning to a dangerous nation on the defensive, but also how he would unearth and restore her body without relying on the sunstone for help.

Then there was Rosa and Uriana. He missed them dearly. Only a few weeks earlier, they marched at his side. And for a while, he almost fantasized about being a family. It was amazing how fast and how close they had grown. Uriana seemed to trust him immediately, a concept he still struggled to accept, given his involvement in the destruction of her village. He still blamed himself for the part he played, but Uriana had taught him—at least from a child's perspective—that a man's past mattered far less than what he does with the present. She had accepted him as her guardian, and he had vowed to protect her. Sadly, he had failed to do even that.

As for Rosa, the bond she had forged with Uriana was special. Her charisma and gentle tact helped the young Conjurion to open up and overcome her shyer tendencies. Uriana had even revealed some of her potent magic to Rosa, which had possibly been passed down by untold generations of Ur tribesmen, and was now at risk of being lost to the world forever. Just thinking about his loved ones made Bram melancholy. They seemed so far away … so unreachable. But at least they were still alive.

Even so, Rosa's time was short. Bram had one week to deliver the Capricorn Stone to Kane, which assumed his old friend and brother would still uphold their end of the bargain. Unless he found the sunstone in time, he might never see his lost love again. At the same time, giving a sunstone to the enemy was unthinkable. The battle against Abaddon took every ounce of effort and the combined talents of him and his friends. And even then, Bram felt there was an element of luck. So many things could have gone wrong. More of his friends could have died. He could have been controlled by Abaddon's blue smoke, trapping him in his own body as a slave to the Ahriman.

And yet, the battle with the next demon would surely be worse. After all, the Capricorn Stone contained the most fearsome Ahriman of them all—the being known as Lord Zagan. Bram was truly afraid of facing such a monster.

His spirits sunk even lower as he thought about Kane and Samuel, the men who had thrust him into this near-impossible dilemma. Their constant barrage of deceit and betrayal nearly drove him to the brink of insanity.

It was strange and unnerving to have such a personal relationship with these villains. He felt ashamed and embarrassed, but so far, only a few people knew the truth about his brother. Even so, Bram worried what others might think if they discovered he intended to defend the world from a blood relation, and a man who had been his best friend through childhood. Many might think he could not be trusted to confront them and make the hard choices.

But his mind was set. His so-called "friend" and "brother" had taken everything he loved and used it against him. They betrayed his trust and turned him into a tool for their bidding. Samuel had even attempted to force him into transporting a sunstone—knowing that the Ahriman inside would have devoured his soul.

Worse, these painful abuses came without easy answers. Kane's and Samuel's true motives were a mystery. It was not clear why they hated him so much, or why they hurt him so ruthlessly. He never knew he even had a brother until he first met him inside the Koban temple.

Yet, it was strange that two people from his past would somehow meet and build an alliance. Perhaps Kane saw something in Samuel that reminded him of his friendship with Bram. True, Samuel was Bram's twin as far as appearance, but he was the opposite in everything else that mattered. It seemed impossible that the Templar had truly based his loyalty on admiration.

The very thought went against everything Bram knew of his childhood friend. Ever since first meeting Kane at the age of six, Bram saw a boy who was honest, full of love, and never ended up on the wrong side of a moral issue. Kane protected his best friend from harm and doled out respect and understanding like no one else could.

Not just for Bram, either. Kane often stayed at home to nurse his chronically ill mother. His father was once a well-off businessman with prominent connections inside Angkor's capital, until he supposedly left when Kane was still a boy. It forced Kane and his mother to survive on their own, inside a small farming village, but without skills or land. Despite many hardships, Kane supported his mother with help from the entire village.

The other farmers considered Kane to be hard-working and good-natured. He contributed to the village, and they paid his kindness back with food and supplies. It was not much, but it was enough for mother and son to live comfortably. Teamwork and cooperation was the cornerstone of his upbringing. It seemed impossible to imagine that he would align himself with a shameless and unscrupulous opportunist like Bram's brother.

Like many boys his age, Kane did get into trouble a few times, including the occasional fistfight or public disturbance. But it never amounted to anything that landed him in trouble. Certainly, nothing that changed the values he had as a boy. He still had a clean record by the time he went to the Academy, which was considered a significant achievement.

Out of nearly twelve hundred applicants, less than twenty from the western farmlands made it through the enrollment process of this prestigious institute of higher education. Part of the reason was the rigid caste system built to keep rural villagers in their roles as farmers. Even so, Bram and Kane had both triumphed over that challenge. They were among a small group recognized by their communities as representing the best the rural townships had to offer. It was a huge honor and distinction.

Unfortunately, by his second year, the young Kane had grown increasingly distant and moody. His grades slipped and Bram worried for his friend. Sadly, he had missed the chance to confront these issues due to Kane's acceptance into the Order of the Templars. Over the course of one evening, Kane had packed and left the Academy—and his best friend—for good.

Bram never had a chance to ask Kane what had bothered him, nor did he have a chance to do so later, as an adult. In fact, the next time Bram saw his childhood friend was outside of Richard's throne room—just as Bram was demoted from his role as captain.

From Bram's perspective, the truth was clear. Unless Kane was under some kind of compulsion spell similar to Abaddon's blue smoke, something else had profoundly impacted his life. Bram had no idea what, but it was clear he had missed the opportunity to comfort his friend when Kane needed him the most.

For hours, Bram dwelt on possible meanings as icy headwinds blew across his face. His thoughts were finally interrupted when the shadow of an old man stepped in front of the late- afternoon sunlight.

"After what you've been through, you should be in bed by now," Matthias chided.

The knight snapped to attention. The old wizard had a point, but Bram did not have an answer.

Matthias approached the railing, casting his gaze in the same westward direction as Bram. "You must have a lot on your mind. Not that I blame you, of course. Cedric told me about your history with the Templar."

It would have been nice to hear some sincere empathy from the gray wizard, but Bram recognized the small talk as a lead in to a more personal conversation—and he was not in the mood to speak about Kane. He faced the old sage, hoping he would get to the point.

"Yeah … but how about you tell me what's on _your_ mind, Matthias."

The old man smirked. "How familiar are you with Vinetan politics?"

So, the wizard wanted to discuss the upcoming journey. Bram wanted to avoid any discussions that would expose his inner feelings, but he had no problem discussing strategy. So he thought back to his studies, long ago when he had studied at the Academy.

"As far as the textbooks go, Vineta's a republic. However, the regent rules only in image. In practice, the country is a theocracy, ruled by the eight clerics. Not only do they pull the strings of the government, but they also act as protectors of the sunstone. That's why we're heading to Kish, rather than the capital city of Lagash. By speaking directly with the clerics, we can find out how—and why—Arcesilaus might have stolen their sunstone. It will help us to determine the best course of action."

Matthias let out something between a chuckle and a grunt. "Spot on. But there are still a few things you'll need to keep in mind. First, the clerics believe in what's known as the _Kybalic_ belief system. You don't need to worry about the details, but realize this …."

The gray wizard wagged his index finger for emphasis. "Kybalism happens to have decades' worth of conflict and division with the Gaian faith, the belief system of the Minoans. In fact, the clerics likely distrust Grigori Knights just as much as the rest of the world distrusts Gnostics."

Bram groaned, hoping he would not end up getting sucked into a religious argument. "We're only offering our help, Matthias. Surely the clerics will understand and not refuse us based on our connection with the Elder."

Matthias and his bony forefinger held firm. "That's another thing. There are eight clerics, but we'll only be addressing one of them. She's known as the _One Voice_ , and she's the only cleric allowed to represent the Eight to the outside world. Her name's Allura, and she's well-known for being cunning and manipulative. Remember. We intend to keep the Capricorn Stone for ourselves after we find it. But if Allura learns our intent, she'll never let us leave the country."

Bram sensed a bit of wavering in Matthias' voice. It was followed by a shifting of feet and adjustment of silver wizard's robes. Bram wondered what the old man might be hiding, so he said something he hoped would bring it out into the open.

"What else? Please, Matthias, I can tell."

The old wizard harrumphed. "Yeah … you're right. The truth is … Allura and I have a bit of a … a _past_."

Matthias did not elaborate, and Bram had no desire to pry. The wizard had made his point, and when it came to old lovers, Bram had learned it was best not to demand details.

"I get it. So what do you suggest?"

Matthias sighed, looking unnerved. "Well, we could always promise to help Allura under false pretense, but … that might end up more difficult than it sounds. The clerics are all very intelligent and capable white wizards, and I doubt we'll get far without them catching on. I can only suggest we bring up Samuel's and Virgil's plans right away. Once Allura understands what's at stake, practicality might win over prudence, and she'll agree to help us."

The old wizard's plan did not exactly sound reassuring. Bram crossed his arms. "And what do you think happens if she refuses?"

Matthias scoffed. "That's a risk we'll need to take if we want to get the sunstone with her blessing. But you're right. If the clerics don't like our proposal, they'll do everything they can to undermine it. So it's a long shot. Like I told you before, I think you made a mistake in bartering with your _friend_ , the Templar."

It was a low blow. Bram felt his insides churn, but he bit his tongue. "You've made your point, Matthias. Thank you."

The gray wizard huffed so hard it blew the wispy ends of his mustache. "Don't patronize me, Bram! The only reason we're in this mess is because the enemy has the one thing in this world they know they can use against you—and _you've_ given them the chance to set the rules!"

Bram's eyes narrowed, but Matthias was quick to finish his spiel.

"My point is this. You should've already decided by now whether your goal is to protect the Capricorn Stone from falling into the wrong hands, or if you're willing to trade it for Miss Reynolds."

Bram clenched his jaw. Anger boiled inside of him—the same rage he had felt when confronting Kane. But before he even had a chance to understand it—before he could meter and control his response—an angry snarl spewed forth.

"How dare you question my motives? You think I'd prioritize Rosa over the fate of the world? If you don't know anything helpful, then begone and leave me to think of a plan."

Bram flung his hand out as if swatting a fly.

The wizard took a step back, eyes wide and face flushed. But he quickly recovered and stood his ground. "The thought had crossed my mind—that's all! I know how much she means to you, and I don't want you to forget that the Capricorn Stone is home to Lord Zagan—the most powerful of the Ahrimen. We got lucky when we defeated Abaddon, but if Virgil or Samuel gets their hands on this sunstone, it may be a battle we can't win. Don't you think that's worth discussing?"

Again, the wizard made a good point, and Bram had been too quick to judge. He seized control of his emotions, but his body still shook. All he could do was slow down and think things through.

One idea came to mind—something he had nearly forgotten due to the harrowing experiences in Angkor. Matthias had been given the mightiest of black magic from the Oracle! There must have been a good reason why the gray wizard had not used it against Abaddon, but Bram hoped it was something he could still utilize. He blurted out the idea excitedly.

"What about Apocalypsis? I'll do everything possible to avoid another battle with the Ahrimen. But, if we must fight them again, we'll need every potential advantage. You can still cast it … right?"

Matthias' face went white and his gaze shifted to the _Heron's_ deck. He took a deep breath and once again adjusted his robes. "There's … ahem … something else I haven't told you."

Bram heart sunk, worried what other secrets the old man might have kept hidden.

Matthias licked his upper lip while scratching his right cheek. He was all full of nervous tics, and Bram worried about the hesitation. The knight was about to say something when the old wizard spoke.

"There's a reason why I can't use that spell until the time is right. The Oracle told me that mortals were never meant to wield that kind of power. I told him I would take on any risk, if it meant defeating our enemy. That's when he told me … that it would take my own life force in exchange."

A void suddenly appeared in the pit of Bram's stomach, causing his whole body to clench. "What does that mean?"

Matthias huffed. "Obviously, it means that when I cast the spell, _I will die_."

Bram felt as if the old man had just used his magic to squeeze the insides of his chest. Apocalypsis was one of his few remaining advantages against the Ahrimen. Now it was gone!

The gray wizard rolled his eyes. "Now don't feel sorry for me! I won't use up my only chance foolishly. I'm committed to stopping Virgil and Samuel by any means necessary, even if it takes my life! I just don't want to waste it because we're forced into an unnecessary battle."

Bram shook his head. Something did not feel right. Matthias had known the spell would take his life, but he had asked for it anyway. There was only one thing that could have driven him to pay that kind of price.

"I don't pity you, Matthias. But, I think it finally makes sense why you asked for a power that you knew would cost you your life. It seems I'm not the only one with a difficult choice to make when it comes to defending the sunstones."

Matthias bared his teeth. "What in the Burning Pits are you implying?"

Bram felt heat radiate from the old wizard's glare. If stoked, it would become a raging brush-fire.

The knight held up his hands defensively. "Peace, Matthias. I'm merely reminded of something the Oracle told me. He said the Grigori Knighthood was about choosing what I believe in my heart was true. But he also said that the freedom of choice was also the greatest of burdens. I know that I will face difficult choices. My feelings for Rosa will tempt me to act in ways that go against protecting the sunstones. But I'm committed to making the right call, and I need to know that you would, too, if faced with a similar dilemma."

"Oh yeah?" the gray wizard challenged, his brows raised. "And what dilemma would that be?"

Bram sucked in his breath. He knew he treaded on thin ice, but it was important to get the dialogue out into the open. He took a risk and spoke his mind.

"I'm referring to whether you'd use Apocalypsis to defend the sunstones … or save it for vengeance against those responsible for your daughter."

Matthias' face flushed a deep red, like a tea kettle ready to blow. But he seemed to repress it rather forcefully. He approached Bram, putting his face within breathing distance, shoving a bony forefinger into the knight's chest.

"Angela is off-limits. Don't you _ever_ bring her into this _again!_ "

With that, the gray wizard stormed off to his cabin.

Bram let out a pent-up breath. At last, the adrenaline left his body. Anger turned into apprehension, finally congealing into cold regret. He had not meant to offend the old sage, but he knew the conversation had to happen eventually. Bram already spent hours agonizing over his own choices. There _had_ to be a way to rescue Rosa while still protecting the sunstones—and also keep an eye out for Matthias. He reflected on this for the remainder of the afternoon. By sundown, Vineta's massive forests appeared below the _Heron_. By morning, he would reach Kish.


	3. Chapter 8, Part II

**.**

* * *

 **Part II**

 _Evening of Terminus, Twenty-Eighth Day of Autumnmoon_

* * *

Józef Brandt roused. Peaceful sleep gone. Almost immediately, an inrush of aches and pains. A bad dream … a feeling of helplessness … hallucinations of dark shadows surrounding him. His body paralyzed. Afraid.

"Get the medic!" a gruff male voice ordered.

"Coming!" another man shouted, somewhere off in the distance.

Józef was terrified. Arms wrapped around him. Lifted him, flipped him, placed him on his backside. The world was a blur. He could barely see. The shapes were indistinct, voices muffled.

"He's frostbitten, badly. And dehydrated."

Józef tried to make sense of the words.Were they referring to him?

He remembered leaving Koba on a ship bound for his homeland. He was relaxed, even excited. Until the sailors—his own kinsmen—betrayed him and murdered his followers. He cringed as menacing memories flooded his subconscious.

Flashes of terror. Being locked in a small room, dragged into a dinghy, his captors shot right in front of him! Pirates … and the barrels of firearms aimed straight at his face. He offered himself up for ransom … which never came. He escaped … but just barely. Stranded for days. Adrift in the Glacial Ocean with naught but a lifeboat and light blankets. Unbearable cold, painful hunger, maddening thirst! And then ….

"Look! On his hand—that ring!"

The voices startled him. He looked left and right at the phantoms all around him.

"Do you think it's royalty?"

"Does it mean there will be a reward?"

These were the voices of people, but it was not certain whether they were helpful or harmful. Józef tried to speak, but his voice was gone.

Then someone lifted his head and forced water down his throat. He choked, sending an overflow dribbling down his chin.

"Will they need to amputate?"

"We'll leave it to the clerics. One thing's for sure. If this boy doesn't make it to Kish right away … he'll die."

"I'm captain. It's my call."

"Yes sir, but don't you think we ought to do the right thing? If he _is_ royalty, we might be rewarded. It'd be far better than staying out here with these miserable catches."

Silence … then a gentle sigh. "Very well. Ready the ship!"

"Aye, Captain!"

Józef lost consciousness … returned to peaceful sleep … to that place where the pain would not hurt him.


	4. Chapter 8, Part III

**.**

* * *

 **Part III**

 _Morning of Somnus, Twenty-Ninth Day of Autumnmoon_

* * *

The _Heron_ landed late in the morning in the city of Kish on a patch of grass known as The Commons. The landing area had been built back in the early days of air flight, against strong opposition from local conservationists. The Vinetan people loved their forests, but the dense woodlands made it impossible for aircrafts to touch down anywhere else. The critics tried to make a case against air flight, pointing to Kish's ample coastal access to satisfy future import and export needs. They were more worried that clear-cutting would set a precedent that would threaten the natural beauty of their homeland.

Of course, the clerics disagreed. They understood that Kish needed to keep pace with the rest of the developing world, or else fall into obsolescence. So they invoked their executive powers and sanctioned off a piece of land large enough to accommodate a half-dozen airships.

Fortunately, the bet paid off. Kish became one of the few landing hubs on the western side of the continent, which opened up new trade and commercial opportunities. The timing was also good, since the War had recently ended, and Koban and Kitezhian airliners were under sanctions. This freed Vineta to enter international markets with little to no competition. Their ships were small and unable to withstand battle, but the woodland city nevertheless experienced an explosion in economic growth.

Even so, the influx of wealth never came at the expense of Kish's natural beauty and wonder. Fears of unfettered expansion were unfounded, and the city continued to uphold the principles set forth by its founders, who long ago had proclaimed that no hand of man would ever disrupt the natural landscape.

So, instead of clearing away land to make room, the people simply constructed new buildings around existing rocks and trees. Pathways were formed from natural river stone and homes were designed along the contours of hills and depressions. Vinetans did not consider these features as barriers to growth, but rather as opportunities to expose the forest's inner beauty. The city flourished and its citizens adapted themselves to nature, rather than the other way around.

Bram listened as Matthias explained his take on Kishian history. The old wizard was a Vinetan native with plenty of knowledge to part. And he delivered it in volumes as he led Bram and Cedric to the large complex in the center of town. This was the famed _Nexus_ , an enormous campus of civic and community services, a hospital, and one of the world's most famous schools of medicine and white wizardry. It was also home to the Circle of Eight, including the One Voice, Allura.

A lone wizard met them at the entryway of one of the main buildings. He was an older gentleman whose face was mostly hidden by a hooded white robe. He held a list of names and was ready to turn away anyone without an appointment. But as soon as Matthias introduced himself, the apologetic acolyte excused himself to consult his superiors. Evidently, the Deleuze name carried a fair amount of weight inside the forest city. A short time later, the white wizard returned with word that the One Voice would meet them after sunset. He requested Bram and the others to return then.

To pass the time, Bram and Cedric immersed themselves in the local culture, tasting the native cuisine and exploring the beautiful woodland city. Even in the onset of winter, many Vinetans spent time outdoors, playfully enjoying a light dusting of snow that dappled the mossy forest floor. Meanwhile, Matthias left to visit some old friends. When dusk neared, the companions returned to the Nexus, eager to meet the One Voice and begin their mission. This time, the staunch gatekeeper beckoned them forward. Bram followed the old man inside.

Unlike the other places the knight had seen throughout the day, the Nexus appeared more open and spacious, with a modern but luxurious aesthetic. Freckled marble covered the walls and floors, polished well enough to reflect those beholding it. Bram supposed it must have been quarried from the mountains of Ur along Vineta's eastern border.

And yet, the extravagant materials molded themselves around existing natural elements. Occasionally, a tree trunk sprouted from the floor only to disappear into a recess in the ceiling—proving that even the clerics held these centuries-old relics in a high enough regard not to pull them out for practicality.

At the end of the march, Bram reached a room on the upper floor. On the opposite side, a wide glass window overlooked the rest of the city. Night had settled, but the vista was alit with luminess-powered street lamps. The star-like beacons created a mosaic as majestic as the night's sky. A fountain in the room's center splashed faintly, bringing the sounds of nature into the room. Bram's white wizard guide disappeared behind an ornate double-door, but it did not take long before the One Voice emerged with aplomb.

The knight fell in awe the moment he saw her. She walked with grace and poise—and calling her stunning would have been an understatement! Bram recalled Matthias' claim that the two had shared a 'past', but Bram figured he must have incorrectly presumed that it involved a love interest. This woman was decades younger than Matthias, not to mention dashingly beautiful. It was impossible to imagine her and the old wizard together.

Bram quickly wiped the thought from his mind as he observed the One Voice followed by two servants, each one holding a rather large lock of Allura's elaborately-styled hair. The massive coiffeur was pulled back and braided in the form of a wide net, which fanned outward like peacock's feathers. Rainbow colored twine held it in place, creating a dazzling display of hues. Along her wrists dangled shiny silver bangles, and from her ears were hoops adorned with diamonds.

Her dress was a stunning sapphire-blue surrounded by white lace and a high neck. The bottom of the garment hovered just slightly above the floor so that none of it dragged. Her eyes went immediately to Matthias, at which point she quickly ambled over with arms spread out wide and welcoming.

"My dear friend, how long has it been?" she gushed with a thick and sultry accent.

Matthias hesitated before extending his arms, too. The two touched hands briefly while kissing the air beside their cheeks. "I suppose you know why we're here?" he asked.

"First things first," she declared with alacrity, "I want to meet these fine young men who accompany you."

Angkor's former Grand Craftsman stepped forward politely. "My name is Cedric Curtis, Milady." Allura extended her hand and Cedric bent down to kiss it.

"My, my … what a fine-looking gentleman!" she purred with raised brows and a naughty smile. Cedric took a few steps back, blushing.

Bram swooped in to rescue his embarrassed friend, quickly descending to one knee. "Greetings, Lady Allura. I am Abraham Morrison."

The One Voice looked him up and down, eyes glinting with the reflection of his bright silver armor. He straightened his posture as best he could while she hummed. "I already know who _you_ are, Sir Knight. Your reputation precedes you."

Bram stood up, taken aback by her comment. He had certainly not expected his deeds as a Grigori to have traveled from Minoa so fast. Perhaps she referred to his prior reputation—something he hoped to clarify.

"Milady, if you refer to my days as a Gnostic, you should know I no longer walk that path."

Allura tittered gleefully. "Oh, _dear_ , you clearly misunderstand. I'm not referring to your prior life of darkness, Sir Knight, but rather to your miraculous rebirth into the order of the Grigori."

For a moment, Bram was speechless. He shot a quick glance at Cedric and Matthias, whose expressions indicated an equal level of confusion. Nevertheless, Bram composed himself … with effort.

"Lady Allura, I was not aware that news had traveled to Vineta so quickly."

Allura contained her laughter, though her lips remained puckered while her eyes fluttered in amusement. "You expected any less? The Minoans have been singing praises of the birth of their _Savior_ ever since you climbed out of the Great Crevasse."

Bram hearkened back to Matthias' warning while aboard the _Heron_. Either Allura was being sincere about the Minoan people, or subtly mocking their religious differences. But … if she was in fact genuine, Bram was not pleased with the burden it placed upon him.

It had only been a week since he had renounced the Gnostic Knighthood. They were perhaps the most feared and loathsome organization on the Northern Continent—if not the world. He had agreed to help the Elder protect the sunstones, but certainly did not intend to play the role of Savior. It was a standard far too great for someone like him. He had no hope of meeting such high expectations.

The pressure left him short of breath, but he recovered the only way he knew how, by summoning the coarse blanket of detachment that had protected him for so long as a Gnostic. Otherwise, he would be gushing his feelings in front of this cleric, who was no doubt scrutinizing his every move. He had no intention of ruining his best chance of reaching a mutual agreement. So he pulled himself together and replied modestly.

"It's merely a matter of my rare Minoan bloodline, Lady Allura. The Minoans do me far too much honor, but it's true I've come to help in any way I can."

Allura brought her hand to her chest, her expression most indignant. "You can't be serious!"

Bram was aghast. Surely the One Voice did not expect him to pony up to a set of unrealistic expectations. He stumbled for a response.

"Milady … I assure you I came with sincere intentions. I'm committed to defending the sunstones, but, respectfully, I've done nothing up to this point to earn the title of Savior."

Allura took a step back. Her right hand flew up to her brow as if she were about to swoon. "I can't believe what I'm hearing!"

Bram never expected such an aggrandized performance. Allura must have been playacting, but the over-the-top production rivaled even the most melodramatic bard or pouty noblewomen he had seen. He tried getting a reading from his friends, but Cedric had since withdrawn to the room's corner wearing a look of shock and embarrassment, while Matthias stood impatiently with his arms crossed and brows furrowed.

Fortunately, the gray wizard stepped in to save him. "That's enough, Allura. We didn't come here to debate religion."

"That is _not_ what this is about, Master Deleuze. Besides, you've rudely interrupted me, and I wasn't finished speaking!"

She approached Bram, gliding gracefully to stand right in front of him. It was close enough that he caught a whiff of her perfume, a subtle blend of lavender and cloves. "Sir Morrison, I sincerely hope you do not tell the Minoans what you've told me. I fear it would simply _crush_ what little spirit they have left."

Matthias let out an exasperated breath. "For the love of Gaia, Allura, stop and spare us this nonsense! We came here to discuss something important!"

The cleric's head whipped around like a bird of prey. The sudden movement almost tossed her hair-holding servants off their feet. "You'll silence yourself, Master Deleuze, or I'll have you removed from my sight!"

Matthias took a few steps back, mumbling objections under his breath.

The One Voice breathed in deeply. "Shame on you if you think I say these things out of spite or zealotry! You have _no_ idea what you're up against!"

Bram tensed. "You mean the Ahrimen, don't you?"

Allura turned her head back slowly. "But of course, Sir Morrison."

Bram sighed, feeling as if he had just been duped. He had assumed the clerics had been indisposed all day with other business, but now he realized they must have spent hours fervently discussing his arrival.

"Then you obviously know why we're here."

Allura nodded. "We have our theories … but perhaps you'd be willing to humor us and summarize your intentions more directly."

Bram was embarrassed. The One Voice had been testing him, and he had shown a lack of confidence. He had to change his tone quickly if he had any hope of regaining her trust.

"Lady Allura, we know the Capricorn Stone has been taken by King Arcesilaus. We're here because we're committed to the mission of the Grigori Knights. We believe the sunstones need to be returned to their rightful places."

The cleric turned up her chin. "What makes you think you can be of any help? Certainly, you wear the garb of the Grigori. Yet, you cast doubts over the very tenants of the Knighthood. You must understand … we can't have novices meddling with the powers of the sunstones."

Allura had clearly stated her position, but Bram was not ready to give up. His hand went to his belt pouch.

"Forgive my earlier comments, Milady. I had only meant that the burden of protecting the sunstones should not fall on a single man, whether he be called Savior, or otherwise. Indeed, _we_ work as a team. And should you doubt us, then look upon _this_ as proof of our abilities."

Bram revealed the Pisces Stone in his palm. It resembled nothing more than a clear and lusterless crystal, but Allura's eyes went wide at the sight of it.

The knight smirked. "You know what this is, don't you?"

The One Voice shrunk backwards. "How did you get that?"

"We retrieved it from the late Richard Cromwell," Bram answered. "Of course, he had already been consumed by the demon known as Abaddon. Nevertheless, we faced this monster and defeated it, _as a team_. I then used my Grigori powers to return it to its prison."

Allura reached out with trembling fingers, almost close enough to caress its beautiful shape—but before making contact she retracted her hand violently. Anyone else would have thought she had been struck by a viper. She shook visibly.

"Put it away," she ordered, her head turned, clearly repulsed.

"As you wish, Milady." Bram returned the sunstone to his pouch, and Allura slowly turned back to face him.

"Truly, you have great power," she acquiesced. "You've somehow survived a battle against one of the vilest creatures to ever exist in our world, so we can no longer deny the Minoans' right to call you Savior. But, if you expect to help us recover Vineta's most sacred treasure, then I must first show you how it was stolen. Now, come."

Bram followed Allura to another wing of the Nexus, while Cedric and Matthias kept close behind. Her two servants followed as well, silently supporting her long braided hair. Bram passed through multiple nondescript stairwells and marble-covered corridors before arriving at the entrance of an ancient Minoan temple. It resembled the ones in Koba and Minoa, except that the reflective walls within its inner chamber had been shattered. Shards of glittering glass cast scattered flecks of mystical light across the room. The hair on Bram's neck and arms stood straight from the latent magical energy still hanging in the air.

Allura's voice shook. "This was once our sacred sanctuary … until it was desecrated by our most trusted of neighbors."

Bram shook his head. "So … King Arcesilaus destroyed the temple walls from the inside and disabled the fail-safes. But … how? Surely there were other defenses."

Allura sighed. Her voice was listless, quite different from all her previous flair.

"Long ago, Vineta and the Elflands were once a unified nation. No one remembers the precise event, but something devastating must have happened between our people. We are quite similar … both desiring peace and harmony with nature … but clearly that was not enough. Some of us wanted to interact with the rest of the world, while others demanded privacy and isolation. This second faction split and formed a separate nation. To this day, they maintain a decisive distance from the rest of society, except for their close ties with Vineta. That makes us perhaps the only nation on Gaia capable of sustaining a relationship."

"You once had common ancestry?" Cedric piped up unexpectedly. "But I thought the Elfen people had fey blood within them."

Allura chuckled, but more to hold back tears than anything else. It reminded Bram of the way Rosa would sometimes react when he wronged her.

"Those are just silly stories. They're not descendants of elves—or any other woodland creatures. They like it when people believe in the myths, but the Elfen people are just like us, except they prefer to be left alone."

Cedric's cheeks turned a faint red. "I apologize for my naiveté."

"Nonsense," the One Voice told him. Her eyes were still watery, but skimming the surface was a kind of sincerity. "Many people in this world have been led astray by rumor and hearsay. The stories about the Elfen people partly exist because they so rarely travel out of their own country. Most people in this world have never even met one of them."

Allura reached out to Cedric. He met her halfway in a polite but tangible exchange. "Even so," she continued, "I welcome all thoughts on the matter. Whether or not you are well versed in the facts, you should not hesitate to let others benefit from your point of view."

Cedric smiled and bowed his head. "I appreciate that, Lady Allura. I suppose my only thought is this: If Vineta is one of the few countries still friendly with the Elflands, then it must be very important for the clerics to maintain that relationship. King Arcesilaus must have exploited that trust to put himself in a position to get close to the sunstone. That's when he must have … you know … done what he did without anyone noticing."

Allura nodded. "Indeed, your deductions are correct, Mister Curtis."

Her eye contact shifted to Bram and Matthias. "I say to all of you. Please, do not judge us harshly. I know it must appear as if we were lax, but we've been diligent sunstone protectors for nearly a millennium. That includes keeping the sunstone heavily monitored at all times. We should have never let down our guard—even for a moment—but when Arcesilaus appeared one day with promises of an enriched relationship, we perhaps welcomed him a bit too eagerly."

Matthias frowned, shaking his head. "He must have been very convincing."

Allura's shoulders sagged and her head drooped. "He came promising new initiatives that would have benefitted both our nations. You must understand. Our people have been dreaming for years for a broader partnership with the Elflands. As clerics, it was our duty to treat such a rare opportunity in earnest. But we were fools. We put our eagerness to please the Elfen king ahead of our most sacred duties."

The One Voice paused a moment in silent reflection. She then looked up, her eyes flaring. "Arcesilaus betrayed our hospitality and stole the sunstone the first moment we diverted our attention. He must be stopped and the sunstone returned at all costs!"

Bram understood and empathized. Allura had a flair for theatrics, but it was clear that she and the other clerics were victims of Arcesilaus' lies. The Elfen king had come with friendly intentions, only to steal the sunstone for himself. The situation felt oddly similar to what Bram had in mind when he first set foot in Vineta. His chest felt heavy with remorse.

If he were really true to his word, he would return the Capricorn Stone directly to the clerics. It was naturally the right thing to do. But the more Bram mulled it over, the more he realized what he would be giving up. By turning over the sunstone, he would have nothing with which to barter for Rosa's life. Worse, he would have no way to find where Kane and Samuel were hiding. It seemed that honoring his brother's Faustian pact was his only chance to do both.

He considered asking Allura whether he could use the Capricorn Stone with the clerics' permission … but the stakes were too high. He could not afford to have them refuse. Rosa's life hung in the balance, and the clerics had no attachment to just a single person. The Enchantment compelled them to value the safety of the world above all else. They would never allow a former Gnostic Knight to use their sunstone to barter with the enemy.

On the other hand, keeping the sunstone gave him leverage to find Samuel's hideout, which in turn might lead to Rosa. All he had to do was betray the cleric's trust … just as King Arcesilaus had done. But he wondered would it would mean in terms of walking the path of the Grigori? Would his powers fail, right when he needed them the most?

He realized he had remained silent for far too long. He needed to say something, and he had no time to weigh the consequences. His best bet was to remain neutral and see how things played out. Perhaps other options would emerge.

"What else can you tell us about Arcesilaus?" he posed while keeping his anxieties well hidden. "Even with easy access and a motive, I assume it wasn't easy for him to take the sunstone. He must have had some other means to escape Kish without being captured."

Allura nodded. "You're once again correct, Sir Morrison. Arcesilaus is an accomplished black wizard. We suspect he broke the mirrored glass surrounding this inner chamber so he could magically teleport out of the city. Otherwise, the enchantment on the glass would have stopped him."

"Why hasn't the Circle of Eight gone after him?" Matthias interjected.

Allura walked over to a fragment of glass wall that remained, her hand gently caressing its cracked surface. "Unfortunately, it's not that simple. Arcesilaus was clearly responsible, but we lack any actual _proof_ —at least, nothing the Elfen people would accept. We've already contacted their emissary, but the discussion was _most_ unpleasant. He demanded an apology, of all things—accusing _us_ of conspiring against his king! Given the fragile relationship between our nations, there would be profound consequences if we openly retaliated."

Bram shared Allura's frustration. He imagined it must have been difficult for the clerics to navigate such a political nightmare. He never remembered King Richard being in a position to consider how other nations perceived him. Then again, that was the benefit of Angkor's might and dominance. But for smaller countries like Vineta, maintaining a peaceful perception was vital to their survival.

Bram tried to say something helpful. "I assume you've considered taking it back in secret?"

Allura nodded. "We have many capable wizards, Sir Knight, some of which have already made their way into the Elfen forests. They've reported strange magic near the capital city of Garda. Based on their readings, they believe Arcesilaus is using the sunstone to generate an anti-magic field for protection."

"An anti-magic field?" Matthias echoed. "How would that help Arcesilaus? He would need to confront an invading wizard in order to put a field around them. Even if the sunstone has enhanced his powers, he would still be vulnerable if someone snuck through without being seen."

"You don't understand," Allura asserted. "I do not refer to individual fields cast around trespassing wizards, as you might expect. I meant that Arcesilaus has found a way to generate a single field so large that it covers the entire city—plus some of the surrounding forests! If our scouts are correct, any wizard passing through the field will lose their ability to cast magic, whether or not Arcesilaus sees them coming."

Matthias groaned loud enough to be heard across the room. Clearly, the Elfen king was using the sunstone's magic in new ways that no one could have predicted. The clerics were surely in desperate need. Bram now had his chance to seize the opportunity to pledge himself to their cause. He hesitated a moment, knowing it would commit him to a certain level of dishonesty. But he could not think of any other way.

"There's one thing I still don't understand," he noted. " _Why_ did Arcesilaus take the sunstone in the first place? He's clearly not working for the same villains responsible for the other sunstones."

Allura arched her brows. "And might I ask what brings you to _that_ conclusion, Sir Knight?"

"I'll explain …." Bram offered some background on Virgil Garvey and Samuel Cortez. However, he kept many of the details secret, including his relationship to Kane, Rosa's kidnapping, and the ultimatum in exchange for her life. During his explanation, he mentioned how Virgil had stumbled across the journals of an old sage known as Maurice Vance. As soon as he mentioned the name, the color drained from Allura's face.

"So … it all comes down to Maurice Vance," the One Voice mourned. "Then … it is indeed all our fault."

The admission wrecked Bram's train of thought. The hairs on the nape of his neck stood straight up. "What do you mean?"

Allura sighed. "It seems I owe you an explanation."

Cedric and Matthias gathered close as the One Voice composed herself and began her story.

"It all happened thirty years ago. Maurice Vance was a well-known researcher, famous around the world for his discoveries. When he announced the Nexus as the location for his next project, we were delighted. He had proposed the discovery of a new cure—one that addresses a very serious disease that causes some wizards to lose their magic later in life. What better way to deliver this new gift to the world than to have it sponsored at our facility?"

Allura held a starry-eyed smile as she described the potential cure. For a moment, Bram thought of Rosa's smile, which brought a momentary feeling of melancholy. But it faded just as quickly as Allura's expression.

"Unfortunately, Maurice Vance ended up duping us all. He never intended to perform his research. Instead, he waited until late at night, after the Nexus shut down. When no one was watching, he insidiously snuck into our temple to perform secret experiments on our sunstone! We eventually caught on to his deceit, but he disappeared before we could capture him, along with his journals."

Bram hung on every word, but was let down when Allura finished. "That's it?" he asked. "You don't know what happened to him, or what he had managed to discover from his research?"

Allura frowned. "I thought it would be obvious to you, Sir Knight. He made contact with the most powerful of all the Ahrimen, the one known as Lord Zagan. Whatever happened afterward is still a mystery, but it was surely the first in a series of events that has led to our current crisis."

"Let me see if I understand," Cedric summarized. "Maurice Vance performed secret experiments on the sunstone, here in Vineta. He wrote about it in his journals, then disappeared as soon as the clerics found out. Then, thirty years later, the journals turn up in the Archives of Angkor. Virgil discovers the secret of the sunstones, and convinces King Richard to steal the one from Minoa. But, we still don't understand what else Vance might have learned about the Ahrimen, or why Virgil thinks he can control them."

"The man's crazy!" Matthias blurted. "We saw what happened when Richard used the Ahrimen's powers. It's just a matter of time before the Ahriman destroys them!"

"I'm not so sure," Cedric argued. "Virgil confronted me when I was trapped inside Angkor's Catacombs. I don't know what it was, but something _horrifying_ came over him. It was almost as if his face … transformed … into something ghastly. I'm certain he was using a sunstone!"

Another chill surged up Bram's spine, causing him to break out in goose-bumps. "We saw the same thing! In the Angkorian waterways! It almost looked like … Death itself."

"Yes!" Cedric exclaimed. "That's it! But would he really use a sunstone if he knew about the consequences? He was far more cunning when he gave King Richard the Pisces Stone, knowing what it would do to him. Yes, he's erratic and unpredictable, but he's been sane enough to keep several steps ahead of us. So, if he's using the power of the Ahrimen, how does he protect himself from their corruption?"

The room was deathly silent. There was still so much about the sunstones that Bram did not understand. If Virgil found a way to control an Ahriman's powers without consequences, it would make him incredibly dangerous!

Beads of cold sweat trickled down from Bram's brow. "If what you suggest is true, Cedric, then we'll have no choice but to confront that Ahriman to stop him."

As soon as he said it, Bram watched the faces of his friends turn pale. This was especially true for Matthias, who took on the shade of fresh white linens. There was no doubt he feared the need to use Apocalypsis.

"We would have never even considered such a thing," Allura admitted. "If what you say is true, then I must warn you of an even greater threat."

Cedric's eyes opened so wide they looked on the verge of falling out. "What could be more dangerous than a madman with the unlimited power of an Ahriman?"

The One Voice lowered her head. "The Ahrimen's powers are not just terrible and horrifying. They also have the secondary effect of disrupting _the_ _Zohar_."

"The _Zohar_?" Bram repeated. "What's that?"

Allura gasped. Both hands rushed upward to cover her open mouth. Off to the side, Matthias groaned.

"Sir Morrison!" the One Voice shrieked. "Are you telling me you know nothing of the fabric of life that surrounds our world? The ethereal essence that is a cornerstone of our Kybalic faith?"

Bram had the creeping suspicion that he had inadvertently stepped into the religious debate he had meant to avoid. But with Allura's heightened response, he knew he had no chance of sidestepping.

"I'm sorry, Milady, but I'm afraid I'm not well-versed in the Kybalic faith."

"Humph. That's not surprising, coming from someone of _Minoan blood_ ," she derided. "Allow me to educate you."

Off to the side, Matthias frowned and shook his head, but the One Voice seemed not to notice.

"Originally, our faith derived from the same sect as the Gaian Priests—those of your direct lineage, Sir Knight. For a time, our priests worshipped the goddess, Gaia, believing that all magic came from her—the deified spirit of our planet. However, a small group of researchers dedicated themselves to proving that theory. But what they found was that the _true source_ of magic came from beyond this world, a revelation that essentially debunked the Gaian myth."

Bram tensed, fearing that Allura had set the stage to openly pit him against the Minoan faith. "Milady," he began as tactfully as he could muster, "with all due respect, we do not wish to take sides. We respect your beliefs and only wish to focus on how we can recover your sunstone from King Arcesilaus."

"Not so fast," the One Voice demanded. "We can't have our champion be ignorant of the fundamental powers at play. At least hear me out, Sir Morrison, so that I can explain why we fear the Ahrimen more than any other wizard or priest on this planet."

Bram saw the look of determination on Allura's face and felt it best to let her finish. "Of course. We must consider both sides."

Bram heard Matthias sigh. Clearly, the wizard had a tough time swallowing Allura's explanation, but at least he was wise enough to keep his mouth shut and give the respect of hearing her out.

The One Voice took a deep breath. "As I was saying, our ancestors found evidence of an ever-present aether, which acts as a sort of medium to transfer energy between this world … and the world beyond."

"An aether?" Cedric asked. "You mean, like something in the air?"

"Not _in_ the air," Allura responded. "Rather, the air is contained _within_ _it_. It surrounds us, and although we can't see it or directly interact with it, we know that magic would be impossible without it. We refer to this aether as _the Zohar_ , and believe it to be not only capable of transferring magic, but it also the fundamental ingredients for life."

"Come now," Cedric objected. "Women don't need this aether to bear a child. What kind of research would give credit to an invisible force, when we can witness the miracle of life with our own eyes?"

Allura turned to face the craftsman. "True, it is not necessary to believe in the Zohar if a person is satisfied with an explanation that relies only on our direct senses. Indeed, when we break down and analyze the components of a human body, we end up with nothing more than flesh and bone. But, in order to truly understand how a person _thinks_ and _feels_ , we must go beyond the corporeal body."

"You mean the soul?" Bram asked. He was beginning to feel that Allura's explanation was similar to a lot of other religions. However, he was intrigued with the idea that life could be more than just the material elements that made up the body. Ever since he was a child, he had believed in the concept of a soul. It was never a belief that worked well in the ranks of the Gnostics, but now ….

"Are you saying that without the Zohar to transfer the invisible ingredients of life, human beings might not survive?"

"Precisely," Allura confirmed. "Some people believe we can fully explain life in terms of science and chemistry. But, this only appears to be true, since one cannot disprove a theory based on faith. That's why it's often relegated to religious debate."

"Then, why should anyone believe it?" Bram challenged.

"Because," Allura continued, "one thing our founders discovered about the Zohar was its fragility. It could be disrupted by certain energies travelling through it. This includes the magic of the Ahrimen. We believe—or rather, we fear—that if the Ahrimen continue to use their magic, it would eventually sever the connection between the Zohar and our world. That is what we dread the most!"

Bram crossed his arms, trying to put it all together. "So, you're suggesting that if the Ahrimen are released from their prisons and use their magic long enough, at some point it would harm the lives of everything on Gaia?"

Allura nodded. "Not all at once. At first, it would only impact the creation of new life. But without a cycle of life, it's only a matter of time before we all perish. That's why we treat the sunstone's theft so seriously, Sir Morrison. Angkor's search for the sunstones has already awakened one of these demons. Our fear is that the others will soon follow. If we fail to return the sunstones to their proper places, everything we know and love will be at stake!"

The room returned to silence. Matthias kept his mouth shut, looking unperturbed. He practically rolled his eyes, while Cedric looked like he had just seen a ghost.

Bram stepped forward. "Hold on, we need to think this through. Lady Allura, how would we know if the Zohar has been disturbed? What are the signs?"

The One Voice responded shakily. "Horrible things. Famines, droughts, plagues … and that's just the beginning." She lowered her head, her eyes pleading. "If it isn't clear to you by now how desperate things are, Sir Morrison, then you might as well move on. But, if you are willing to help us … we need you. If we can't return the sunstones in time … if the Ahrimen manage to escape …."

Allura could hardly finish her sentence. Her words lingered ominously. Every fiber of Bram's being wanted to be the savior who returned the sunstones to their rightful places. But, he also needed them. Now was the time to come forward and be honest about his deal with Kane. If he did so quickly, it might still be possible to gain Allura's blessing.

Unfortunately, she could still refuse. At least if Bram remained silent, he would keep his options open. He might even be able to find Samuel, and still return the sunstone to the clerics later. But if he messed up now, he would never get another chance. Rosa's life hung in the balance!

He wished he had a clear choice. He had hoped the path of the Grigori was straight-forward, and that he could rest assured that honesty and virtue would always take him closer to his goals. But now … it seemed like the truth was poison. If he told Allura what had really happened … and he lost the chance to reach Rosa in time because of it … he would never forgive himself.

There was no other way. His mind was made up. His path set.

"Lady Allura," he stated reassuringly, "we pledge ourselves to the return of the Capricorn Stone. It must remain in Kish, under the protection of the clerics. We must return all the sunstones to their rightful places, and bring the masterminds behind this to justice. The price of failure is too steep."

The One Voice clapped her hands together, sending a resounding echo throughout the chamber. "Thank you, Sir Morrison. I was wrong to ever doubt you! It's clear that your resolve is real and the Minoans were right to call you Savior. Please … let me know if there's _anything_ I can do to help you get started."

Bram smiled, feeling more comfortable now that the One Voice's was eager to provide assistance. He had expected greater scrutiny, but now it seemed like the clerics were desperate enough to seek his help without question. He still had doubts, but he buried them to take the One Voice up on her offer.

"Actually, Milady, my first concern is reaching King Arcesilaus before it's too late. According to our estimates, it'll take several days to reach Garda by foot. We can't use our airships due to the dense forests around the Elfen capital, nor can we travel by magic, if what you say is true about the anti-magic field. So I was hoping you had other ideas."

Allura offered her hand to Bram. "We do indeed have another option. One of our clerics has some research that I think will help. Please … let me set you up for the night, and first thing tomorrow I'll let him explain."

Bram took Allura's hand and allowed her to lead him out of the Nexus. Just before leaving the building, she summoned the old white wizard from earlier. The gentleman in hooded white robe suddenly appeared at the entrance to the chamber, as if he had been waiting just beyond the threshold the whole time. He led Bram and his friends to a nearby inn—a beautiful upscale establishment built around the limbs of a giant oak tree. A large stairwell led from the forest floor up to a set of double-doors thirty spans up. The wood was stained to match the rest of the tree, making the inn look like a part of it.

"Your rooms and meals are complementary, on behalf of the clerics," the hooded man announced before departing.

Bram and his friends were treated to a dinner from the city's finest chefs. A bountiful spread of roast gosling, colorful fruits, creamy cheeses, and long baguettes awaited them on a wooden table. The crispy golden skin of the goose, the freshly churned butter on the bread, and the juicy figs and grapes overflowed in heaps. It was a banquet fit for a king, something Bram had not enjoyed since his old role under King Richard.

Cedric gorged himself like a man who had not eaten in days, consuming among other things a fair amount of the velvety-red Vinetan wine. Overstuffed and more than a bit drunk, the Ex-Grand Craftsman staggered to his room and passed out.

Bram was about to join him when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Matthias gently guided him to an alcove off to the side, requesting the chance to discuss a few things in private.

The old wizard wasted no time in getting to the point. "So … I noticed you left out the part about your bargain with the Templar."

Bram groaned. He should have known that Matthias would bring it up, but he still had not prepared a satisfying explanation.

"It wasn't an easy decision, Matthias. But, I think it gives us more options. If we had told Allura about Kane, she would have never agreed to help us. I could sense it."

Matthias gave a small grunt. "I don't know what options you think you've bought, Bram. If you haven't revealed the truth by now, then you've already misled the clerics through omission. It pretty much commits us to betraying their trust later."

"Not necessarily," Bram argued. "If we find another way to track down Samuel, we can still return the sunstone to the clerics and explain the situation."

Matthias shook his head. "You have no idea who you're messing with. Allura is just a front—a pretty face that gives the clerics just the kind of outward appearance they want. But don't be fooled … they're not stupid people. Counting what happened with Maurice Vance, they've already been fooled twice. I'd therefore expect them to take extra precautions. And if they ever figure out that we've held back vital information—or that we're being extorted by the enemy—we'll feel their wrath sooner or later!"

Bram had not considered that. Already he felt squeezed between two bad scenarios. It took effort just to breathe.

"Forget about the clerics, Matthias. Virgil and Samuel could be anywhere. If we don't meet Kane by the deadline, we'll never find them!"

The old wizard folded his arms and his brows furrowed. "Let's suppose we end up retrieving the sunstone, and you hold your meeting with Mister Harding. Then what? You have a plan I don't know about? Samuel isn't stupid enough to invite you to his lair. What makes you think you'll ever find it?"

Bram had no answer, and the stress was crushing. "I don't know yet! But at least with the Capricorn Stone we'll have some leverage!"

Matthias scoffed. "Bah! Samuel has Miss Reynolds, and he'll use her to play the rest of us as fools!"

Bram's frustration quickly turned to anger. There was no way he would let this fink wizard use his love for Rosa against him! His body radiated heat.

"I already told you that I won't put her life ahead of the world! If it comes down to it, I'll refuse to go through with the trade. But until then, I must have the sunstone in hand! It gives us negotiating power. And you had better start trusting me, because I don't have the patience to explain myself every single time!"

The old man sighed. He looked tired, and for once did not bother escalating the argument. His voice was almost listless.

"Of course I trust you, Bram. But it doesn't mean I'm not worried …."

Bram felt his anger recede. "Then what is it? I saw how you were holding your tongue while Allura explained the Zohar. What was that all about?"

Matthias shook his head. He clearly struggled to articulate his response, but Bram awaited it patiently.

"I just don't think it matters."

Bram was taken aback. "Doesn't matter? You think the possibility of the Ahrimen destroying all life is unimportant?"

The gray wizard scowled. "Don't be a fool, Bram. The Zohar is just a theory—not even that … it's based on faith, not science! The important thing is to stop Samuel and Virgil before they release the Ahrimen, which are already dangerous enough without this so-called invisible aether that provides all life and magic."

Bram was surprised to hear Matthias so skeptical. "I would have thought that being a scholar would have made you curious about where magic comes from. Yeah, I know without proof, the Zohar is nothing more than religious debate. But, that doesn't make it unimportant. We used to think the sunstones were just icons, too … until we learned the truth."

"Fine!" Matthias blurted. "Believe what you want. Just don't be distracted. I don't need to know where magic comes from to know how to use it, and we don't need to be worried about the Zohar to take down Samuel and Virgil!"

Bram was quick to correct the old wizard. "You mean, we don't need the Zohar to protect the sunstones."

"What?" Matthias' face was a furnace. "Yeah, same thing!"

"Not necessarily," Bram maintained. "Protecting the sunstones is our primary mission, even if we need to pass on the opportunity to take down Samuel or Virgil. Or have you forgotten?"

Matthias stood up from his chair, his face fuming. "We can do both!"

Bram also shot up to his feet, ready to put the old wizard's anger back in its place. "Yeah, I'd like to stop them and save Rosa, too! But in case you forgot our discussion yesterday, we need to be clear which is higher priority. Understood?"

The furnace finally blew. "Oh, Yeah? Well, you go ahead and do what you need to do, Bram. And so will I!"

Once again, the old wizard stormed off to his room. Bram buried his face in his hands, wishing he knew what to do. Only one thing was certain: he would not be getting much sleep that night.


	5. Chapter 8, Part IV

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 **Part IV**

 _Afternoon of Somnus, Twenty-Ninth Day of Autumnmoon_

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 _ **Author's Note:** For those who have read Book 1, please note that I have decided to rename Koba's capital of Tiahuanaco to something more fitting for the setting, easier to remember, and appropriate for the story. The new name, henceforth, is "Loulan". Please forgive the late change, especially those who are used to seeing the name so often in Book 1. My hope is that my readers will appreciate the change._

* * *

At last, Quon Nan and his Kenju Warriors reached the Koban city of Loulan. Their airship touched down on a landing platform near the center of town. The brave Koban men offered their thanks to the Kitezhians on board—especially to their gracious captain, Géorg Töller. Quon bowed deep and respectfully to all on board, and without any additional fanfare, he disembarked.

As soon as he stepped onto solid ground, he sunk to his knees and dug his fingers into the dark Koban soil. As he caressed the earth of his homeland, his body eased. Tight muscles unwound and bones settled. Somehow, the soothing spirit of Gaia had transferred into his body through physical contact. After an utterly scarring ordeal, he was finally home. He wanted to shout out in jubilation.

Even so, his conservative instincts forced him into a reserved state of mind. Instead of singing, he merely smiled and let the cool breeze flow through his loose tunic. The local air never tasted so sweet, nor did the warm afternoon sun ever feel so soothing. Nothing could have shaken him out of his reverie, except for a voice he had been longing to hear. It might have been his imagination, but he hoped with every fiber of his being that he had truly heard it call out to him.

"Husband? Is it really you?"

Quon's body sprung to life. "Katharina?"

He was on his feet in an instant, eyes open, heart racing. But before he fully turned around, his wife threw herself upon him, planting enthusiastic kisses.

Only moments ago, he was determined to withhold any excitement. He wanted to see her safe and sound with his own eyes before letting go of his fears. But here she was, healthy and happy, held tightly in his firm embrace. Her warm breath fell upon his cheek as tiny droplets landed on his shoulder. He could no longer hold back. It was time to unleash the pent-up joy he had reserved for so long. His doubts melted, and he joined Katharina in a tear-filled reunion.

When he finally took a moment to raise his head, he saw himself surrounded by a group of Kenju Warriors wearing wide smiles. They were not usually privy to observing their master's affection. But, if ever there was a right time and place, this was it. Grasping Katharina tenderly, he turned to his Kenju comrades to bid them leave.

"Go. Join your own families," he ordered, waving them off with a grandiose salute. He could not hide his smile, and his men clearly noticed. Even so, he felt triumphant satisfaction in having delivered them home safely. But now, he wanted some privacy with his wife. He had so much to tell her.

He had long rehearsed how he would convey the last few weeks. He spent long hours searching for the right words. He wanted to express how much he had missed her, the void in his heart, and the pain of not knowing what fate had befallen her. He pondered the right way to reveal the crippling burden of Abaddon's evil spell, and of coping with the acts he had been forced to commit. But even while in his trance, Katharina was always in the back of his mind. Sure enough, when Abraham Morrison first woke him from the spell, Quon's very first request had been to know of his wife's well-being.

Oddly enough, none of the words came to mind. Rather, he blurted out the first mundane question that popped into his consciousness. "How did you know I would be on this particular ship?"

Katharina beamed, her face a well-practiced demeanor that Quon recognized from many past discussions. It was usually followed with, "You can be such a fool sometimes," or, "Shut up and kiss me." But this time, she only chuckled and wrapped her arms around his neck, answering his silly question in the sincerest and most beautiful way possible.

"I came here every day, my love, waiting for your ship to make port. Each morning, I read the roster and listened for announcements, hoping for anything that matched your description. Just a few moments ago, I heard about an inbound Kitezhian vessel carrying Koban passengers, and I just _knew_ it had to be you! I prayed to Gaia every day that you would return to me, and at long last my prayers have been answered!"

Quon's heart nearly burst. "True enough," he agreed. "The Goddess surely heard your prayers. But you should know: I would not have made it back, if not for Sir Morrison."

As they walked down Loulan's main boulevard, Quon told his wife everything, from the moment of his capture, up until his triumphant return. He mentioned the terrible compulsive powers of the Ahriman, and how Bram used his Grigori powers to break the spell. He told of the epic battle deep underground Angkor's Substratum, and how Bram imprisoned the powerful demon back inside the sunstone. Katharina alternated between looks of terror and wonderment.

"You have faced … truly unspeakable horrors," she declared. "Had I known even a tenth of it, I would have been crippled each day in fear for you. I am only thankful that it is finally over, and that you are at last home with me."

She caressed his cheek, sending shivers throughout his body. He was ready and eager to relax at her side and mend his frayed nerves. He was prepared to release his baggage … but something still nagged in the corner of his mind. It was probably nothing. No doubt he needed more time for the nightmares to fade away, but in the meantime, he wanted to indulge in his wife's company.

Unfortunately, the feeling persisted. Like an itch he could not scratch, this nagging feeling made it difficult to relax and enjoy Katharina's beautiful voice. As strolled down the wide avenue in the company of his neighbors and countrymen, a thought occurred to him that would perhaps placate his troubled mind.

"Katharina, you must surely want to return home. It has been too long for both of us. However … I feel it is important to relay my experiences to the emperor. The threat to our planet is truly urgent, and I fear I cannot rest until it is off my chest. Please. I promise I will not be long."

Katharina's shoulders sagged, and she avoided his stare.

"What is it?" he probed, his heartbeat sending erratic shocks throughout his body. "You are not angry with me, are you?"

His wife grabbed him by the hands. "No, my love. I had merely hoped that I would not need to discuss this with you so soon after arriving."

Quon's muscles stiffened. "Please … tell me what happened."

Katharina bit her lower lip, as if thinking fast about how to phrase her answer. "While you were away … the Grand Council convened."

The blood slowly drained from Quon's face. The Council never convened outside of its usual cycle. Unless ….

"They voted for a Change of Houses?"

Katharina nodded somberly. Quon's breath was sucked right out of him. He had to stop and compose himself.

He knew the Grand Council was composed of twenty-four members. Together, they had the authority to appoint a new emperor from one of Koba's five royal houses. Usually, it was something they invoked every six-years. However, in extraordinary circumstances, sixteen members could call for a vote and change leadership at any time.

Quon's jaw had difficulty forming the right words. "They … invoked a change now? Who was it?"

Katharina's voice was laced with sadness … very similar to what Quon felt deep in his own chest. "Liu Qin of House Protector."

The Kenju Master felt cold … more than what the onset of winter carried in its drafts. The euphoria that had been brewing since meeting his wife suddenly vacated his body.

At the same time, there was no doubt the choice made sense. House Protector's job was to defend Koba against invading nations. After Angkor's attack and theft of the sunstone, the Council must have deemed that Zhao Peng was no longer fit to rule. Appointing Liu Qin was a sure signal of a return to war. The news was devastating.

Quon wondered if King Unruh had contacted the Council following his attack on Angkor's capital. He must have convinced them that their enemy was still powerful enough to retaliate, and therefore required a new alliance. Meanwhile, the Council must have assumed that Zhao Peng would be against returning to war. Quon new a few councilmen with the influence to call a vote. But the timing could not have been worse.

This was especially true, since the real threat had nothing to do with Angkor. Koba and Kitezh should have united in the battle against the Ahrimen. But now they were readying to attack a country that had acted under the influence of an evil spell. Quon had hoped to convince Zhao Peng to join forces with Angkor in the fight against the Ahrimen. But now that hope was long gone.

"Has Liu Qin announced his plans?" he asked his wife.

Katharina shook her head. "No, the Council announced his ascension yesterday. They said we should expect a speech later today, at sundown. Rumors suggest a formal declaration of war and alliance with Kitezh."

Quon expected as much. "Where is Zhao Peng now?"

"Back at House Agriculture, my love."

"I think we should speak with him first."

Even without the title of emperor, Zhao was still a close friend and confidant. Quon wanted to hear his thoughts on the new leadership, not to mention let him know that he had returned safely.

"Of course," Katharina answered as she changed course. "It is respectful that you visit your family's good friend upon your return."

A twenty minute walk to the south side of town took them to a beautifully constructed palatial manor, designed in the old Koban style. It had tall columns of brick and stone with sweeping roofs of green-glazed tile. The Royal Guardians of House Agriculture protected the front gates, men dressed in bronze lamellar armor atop robes of green, tan, and white—the house colors. Their hands were clenched around long spears with leaf-shaped blades and red horsehair tassels. When they looked upon Quon, they nearly dropped their weapons. Right hands sprung upward—middle and forefinger crossed and held close to the brow—in a faithful Koban salute.

"His Lordship will be pleased to see you," one of them announced, clearly trying to hide a smile.

Quon returned the gesture with a nod as he walked inside. The Guardians respectfully held open the pair of gold-gilded gates.

The Kenju Master made his way to a private courtyard in the center of the structure. Diffuse light filtered from the sky wells illuminated a full-sized garden replete with miniature maples full of reddening foliage. Vines bearing deep red currants and purple passion fruit ran on trellises throughout. In between, pathways made of dark river rock separated the plants into aesthetically pleasing compartments. And, in the center, swam a pool full of red and yellow koi. Zhao Peng sat on a bench, staring listlessly at the pool of fish, until Quon entered his vision.

The former emperor looked up from his meditation with a dumbstruck expression. His eyes welled up, and the corners of his wrinkled mouth crooked upward. The words came out in a whisper.

"It is … a miracle …."

Quon joined his friend on the bench, wrapping his arm around the former emperor's shoulder.

While Katharina made tea, the two men sat by the pool. The watching of koi was an old Koban tradition between lifelong friends. In actuality, Zhao had befriended Quon's father, Wang Fei. But ever since the former Kenju Master died atop Dobb's Plain, Quon seemingly stepped in to take his father's place. Of course, over the years a new bond of friendship formed between him and Zhao Peng that went beyond simply being his father's son.

For a while, the Kenju Master held off on his tales to partake in the special moment. Beneath the tepid waters, frogs and bottom feeders swam alongside the colorful koi, their gentle movements causing a gentle swaying to the underwater greenery. It was serene. Almost … mesmerizing. Men would stare into pools such as these for hours at a time in deep meditation.

Quon waited for his wife to return before relaying his story. When she finally entered the courtyard with some hot green tea, the Kenju Master began. His former emperor sat silently while pondering all the new revelations. At the end, Zhao posed his first question.

"So, you say Sir Morrison is now in Kish, searching for the final sunstone?"

Quon nodded and Zhao sighed, causing his shoulders to slowly curve forward.

"I confess I find it most overwhelming. A few weeks ago, we had merely speculated over what might happen if the Ahrimen were released into the world. But now, it seems we are finally witnessing their chaos firsthand."

"The danger cannot be overstated," Quon insisted. "We should take this immediately to the new emperor, and prepare Liu Qin for the upcoming threats."

Zhao shook his head. "We cannot. It is not our place. If the new emperor seeks advice, he knows where to find me."

Quon's eyes went wide, shocked to hear his wise and respected friend sound so complacent. After all Quon had been through—experiencing the horrors of Abaddon's curse firsthand—it seemed unthinkable not to warn Koba's new ruler! It was more than unthinkable. It was absurd! And Quon wanted to debate it vigorously!

Sadly, his brain intervened. The more he thought about it, the more he realized Zhao Peng was right. The former emperor knew politics better than anyone, and he knew that Liu Qin would neither seek nor appreciate advice from a man who had just been ousted by the Council. Doing so would make him appear weak and without confidence in his own leadership. Even trying to tell him would be met with repudiation.

Besides, the real battle was not to be won in the world of human kings and emperors. Bram Morrison needed to face the Ahrimen on his own. Only his Grigori powers had a chance of overcoming the demons' infernal powers.

"I cannot believe what I am hearing!"

Katharina's shrill voice broke the silence. "You would seriously suggest that we keep it all a secret? The most devastating force of evil ever to plague the land in a thousand years becomes a topic kept between the three of us?"

Quon almost choked. "My love! Realize to whom you address these harsh words!"

Zhao waved away the Kenju Master's objection. "Master Nan, I am no longer your emperor, so please allow your wife to express herself. We should all be allowed to speak candidly on this matter."

He turned toward Katharina. "My dear, please understand. The dangers are quite real. And yet, it is not our place to bring them before the new emperor. Give him time, and if he chooses, he will contact us."

Katharina glared back, as if she were told to ignore a pair of ogres destroying the far side of the room. "How would he even know to come to us?"

Quon knew his wife well enough to know she would not relent. Indeed, he shared in her frustration. He too was crushed at the thought that Liu Qin would meet this crucial information with hostility. Even so, he did not know how to explain it to Katharina, who appeared most unwilling to drop the subject.

Zhao looked as if he were about to interject when his chamberlain entered the room. The old man had been around long enough to tend to Zhao Peng's father. He had hunched shoulders and a beard that hung to his waist. Even so, he still managed to perform the job of managing the household.

He cleared his throat before announcing. "Your grace … it is time."

"Thank you," Zhao acknowledged. "It seems that Liu Qin is about to begin his speech. If we hurry to the north balcony, we can listen from there."

Quon approached his wife, trying to calm her with some affection. She reluctantly allowed him to put his arm around her waist, but made it clear she was biting her tongue. Katharina rarely stayed silent when she disagreed with something, and this topic was by far more important than her usual differences of opinion.

Hand in hand, they followed Zhao to the upper floors. The north balcony overlooked much of the city, including the courtyard in front of the imperial palace, about half a league away. Quon saw that a stage had been erected, and a large crowd had already gathered. Clearly, the Koban people were eager to hear the speech for themselves. To amplify the volume, Zhao called for an attendant competent in white magic.

It did not take long for Liu Qin to enter the stage. He was a handsome man, relatively young to ascend as emperor. He was clean shaven with a strong jaw and jet black hair, dressed in the red, blue, and silver colors of his house. He was just a child when his father died of cholera, while his older brother died in the War.

He gave no signal before beginning his speech. The murmurs of the crowd died instantly as he loudly projected his voice. "Three days ago, an event occurred that will forever change our world. The Kitezhian air fleet broke through Angkor's defenses and successfully demolished their capital."

A din crept through the crowd, slowly growing into a powerful ovation. But Liu Qin shattered it with a sweeping wave of his hand.

"Their attack meant nothing. No more than a first step. However, their victory began a new conflict, the first one waged since The Angkorian War."

Quon noted the terminology right away. By redefining the War into something that sounded like Angkor's own design, Liu Qin was already influencing the minds of his subjects. He seemed to understand politics quite well.

"Before that time, we had ruled as a peaceful and powerful nation. But Angkor changed all that. They limited our reach, weakened our economy, and stole our honor. But now … their defenses have fallen, and for the first time in history, we have an opportunity to demand retribution. They _will_ return our freedoms—and our sunstone—or they will face the consequences!"

Quon noted the body language of the crowd as Liu Qin goaded them with his rhetoric. They cheered earnestly, voices charged in support. No doubt Angkor had directly harmed many of these men and women during the War, or at the very least impacted their friends or loved ones. Liu Qin gave them an outlet for their feelings. All the pain and contempt kept hidden and repressed for so long was now unleashed in a flurry of praise for their new leader.

The emperor basked in his sudden popularity, ready to stoke and spread the conflagration across his entire kingdom.

"To this end, I have agreed to reform our alliance with Kitezh. My hope is that it may be the beginning of a new friendship between our nations. As for specifics, there will be nothing more to announce today. But, rest assured that we shall relay more news in the upcoming days. Rejoice, Koba, because today … _Angkor bleeds!_ "

The crowd cried out resoundingly as Liu Qin left the stage. Quon shook his head as he followed Zhao Peng back inside. It was clear by now that Koba's new emperor and his dogmatic mindset would allow nothing to stand in his way. Quon only hoped that Bram would find the sunstones and destroy the real threat before the Ahrimen struck again.

He was surprised when Katharina stepped in front of him, blocking his and Zhao's path. Her hands dug deeply into her hips. "So … what are we going to do about this?"

Koba's former leader sighed. "You have heard the will of the new emperor. There is nothing for us to do, nor would it be our place."

Katharina scoffed. "He is clearly blinded by vengeance and ideology, and sounds willing to march our men into a senseless war with Angkor. Meanwhile, the true enemy stands ready to unleash the Ahrimen—and you would have us sit on our hands?"

Quon saw fury in her eyes … and she was right. Of course, so was Zhao Peng. Liu Qin had clearly positioned the country toward war, and there was little hope of deescalating those plans. At the same time, Quon had no intention of sitting idle. Bram and Matthias were already in Kish, ready to face unspeakable evils for the sake of the world. And they could use all the help they could get.

Quon did not have Grigori powers or a mastery of magic, but he was still the Kenju Master of Koba. He belonged with his companions, to provide whatever meager skills he could muster. There would be no honor in staying home and doing nothing.

Zhao seemed to read his thoughts. His face fell into a long grimace. "I see the look in your eyes, Master Nan. It speaks volumes of your desires. I saw the very same look on your father, right before he marched off to the Battle of Dobb's Plain. You believe your place is with Sir Morrison … don't you?"

Katharina's eyes flared. "What? No! That is not what I meant. You belong by _my_ side! You cannot leave me again. Certainly not to throw your life away to the Ahrimen!"

Quon felt an ache deep within his chest. He could not fathom what his wife must be going through, but he imagined it to feel incredibly unfair. He took her by the hands, hoping to explain the source of his convictions. There were no words to describe it rationally, but he knew in his heart what he had to do.

"My beautiful wife …" he peered deeply into her eyes, trying to find the window into her heart that would allow him to communicate his feelings. "You mean more to me than anything else in this world. Know that what I choose to do … I do because of you. I cannot allow the world be subject to the evils that I experienced. Forgive me … but I promise you … I will return."

Katharina's eyes welled up as he spoke. She blinked a few times, causing several tears to roll down her cheek. Her lips trembled. "But you just arrived."

He let out a sigh. "I will stay until tomorrow. But then … if I am to be of any use, I must sail to Vineta."

Katharina's iron will finally buckled. She buried her face in Quon's chest and wept bitterly. Quon held her tightly, showing his strength in his continued embrace. He hoped that, unlike his father, he would return home safely.

Zhao placed a hand on Katharina's shoulder. "My dear … I would like to offer you an invitation to live here, at House Agriculture. At least while your husband is away. My servants can attend to you and ensure that you never feel alone."

Katharina smiled while wiping her eyes. "The offer is far too generous, Master Zhao. I cannot accept."

"Please consider it," he insisted. "I am no longer emperor, and no one will question that I have opened my doors to a family friend."

"I agree," Quon concurred. "Now that Liu Qin is the new emperor, I can no longer be the Kenju Master of Koba. Else, I would pass on to be his servant. In order to follow my heart, I must forego my title, which is a disgrace by Koban law. But do not fear, because Master Zhao can protect you. If you stay close to him, you will not share in my shame."

Katharina's face seemed to crack under those words. "I will _never_ feel shame for my husband!" She held firm, as if refusing to shed any more tears. "But … I will do as you say."

Quon was comforted that his wife would be in good hands. Although a part of him wanted to stay in Koba, he knew he would regret that decision. It would be a millstone chained around his neck, a black mark to follow him all the days of his life. He realized that any journey alongside Bram Morrison would be fraught with peril, but any assistance he could offer—no matter how small—would ease his torment. Otherwise, the memories of his deeds under the Ahriman's spell would haunt him forever.


	6. Chapter 8, Part V

**.**

* * *

 **Part V**

 _Morning of Primoris, Thirtieth Day of Autumnmoon_

* * *

As usual, Matthias was the first one up. He began his morning by dragging Bram and Cedric out of bed and down to the inn's lowest level. There, at the far side of a long wooden table, a chef prepared a very welcomed breakfast.

It was a Vinetan favorite: thick slices of bread soaked in poultry eggs and toasted on a hot skillet, along with a mug of bitter but sweet-tasting citrus juice squeezed from one of the native fruits. In his youth, Matthias used to enjoy hearty breakfasts just like this one. And just as in those days, he cleaned his plate and went for a second serving. After all, he figured it might be a long time before he would eat as well again.

Afterward, he pulled Bram and Cedric out of their digestive stupors to hurry along to the Nexus. Along the way, they passed through one of the campus' many gardens. It was beautiful, even though mankind had no hand in its creation. Rather, plants and flowers grew there natively before any of the structures had been built. Colorful blooms from crocuses and snow lilies broke through a carpet of frost, providing a delightfully natural aesthetic.

Out by the front gardens, Lady Allura scattered the contents of a bag of seeds, which drew colorful flocks of bluebirds and finches. Rather than bringing along her two hair-holding servants, the beautiful cleric had her locks twisted into an elaborate conical structure that towered over her head. It was covered in a thin black mesh, and Matthias wondered how she ever managed to carry so much weight.

As soon as Bram called her name, she spun around with wide open arms and a charming smile.

"Ah, you've arrived," she declared with her usual charm. "Won't you please join me inside?"

Matthias shook his head. Long ago, he remembered a very different cleric. He wondered whom she was trying to fool with all the acting and illusions. Nevertheless, Bram obliged her request and followed inside. Matthias hoped it would not be another waste of time. After yesterday's fiasco, he wondered if the clerics would ever end up helping them … or if they would end up a hindrance, instead.

As he walked through the marble hallways, it brought back precious memories. Many wizards considered the Nexus to be the world's finest center for human health and wellness. People from all over the world traveled to Kish in the hopes of curing their ailments, and many a white wizard moved to the city to start a new career in medical research. Matthias had also completed a residence there, decades ago. It was one of many places he had traveled in an attempt to expand his repertoire of spells, while embracing the long hours and tedious research that encompassed a wizard's lifestyle.

The Nexus' pride and joy was its world-class medical facility. Working there was a privilege and a distinction, and all the nurses and wizards were proud to be part of it. No one demanded compensation or recognition. Instead, they worked for the love of medicine, and for the glory of being among the world's most talented healers.

The main structure spanned into multiple wings, some leading to vast libraries of journals and periodicals, while others were patients' wards furnished with luxurious accommodations. Crisp linen sheets stretched tightly across soft feather beds, and wide open windows overlooked the city. Skylights let in copious amounts of sun, which many believed to help accelerate a patient's recovery.

As Allura led the companions, she explained some of the treatments currently under development. These included new cures for terminal sicknesses and rehabilitation programs for the severely disabled. Of course, all new remedies required careful peer review to ensure the spells met the most stringent standards. Assuming all cautionary steps and due diligence, Allura hoped that hospitals around the world would benefit from the techniques developed at her facility. She was just finishing the description of a new wing dedicated to body prosthetics, when she came across the cleric for whom she had been searching.

"Isaac," she called out to a slender man in white robes, "I've brought the guests that I mentioned earlier."

The elderly gentleman had a short white beard and rounded spectacles. He carried an intellectual air about him, and was handsome despite his age.

"Excuse me, my Lady," he apologized in a mild but assertive voice. "I'm currently attending to a new patient we received early this morning. We've just finished prepping him for surgery, and I've been chosen to perform the operation."

Allura turned first to Bram and Cedric to proudly describe the cleric's profession. "Isaac is our finest healer in the treatment of burn victims." Then, turning back to the comely cleric, she asked, "I assume that's why you've been chosen, specifically?"

Isaac nodded. "In a matter of speaking, yes, my Lady. The patient was brought in by a group of fishermen, who rescued him from a lone raft floating off the northern coast. Sadly, he's been badly frostbitten and will require some extreme treatment."

Allura drew a hand up to her chest. "How awful! I don't suppose you can postpone. As we discussed, our guests are on their way to retrieve our sunstone, and we urgently need your expertise to help get them there."

Isaac sighed. "You're welcome to perform a secondary assessment. As you know, our protocols allow you to defer any planned procedures. However, you must see the patient first. Just don't be alarmed by the significant patches of skin missing from the young man's face and body. We had to do a number of quick grafts to prevent infection."

Allura turned to Bram. "It's your choice whether you'd like to accompany me. I wouldn't want to expose you to our patients in their darkest hour, but I'm afraid you'll have to suffer through a bit of protocol before I can allow Isaac to help you."

"It's fine," Bram responded calmly. "But if Isaac is the only one who can help us, we'd like to stay close by."

With that said, Isaac led the group deeper into the Nexus. Allura kept up by slightly lifting the front of her dress to quicken her pace without tripping. Every one of her motions reminded Matthias of a time he once knew a woman striving for recognition among Vineta's elite. And here she was, having achieved her long-sought position. She was different in many ways, but also the same. Of course, many of those memories included parts that Matthias did not want to relive. So he pushed them aside, done with reminiscing.

Isaac eventually led them to a ward on the west side of the building filled with beds and white cloth dividers. It was a triage room for burn victims, and it was bustling with people. Terrible moans and screams could be heard throughout.

Apparently, a nearby lumber mill had caught fire earlier that morning, injuring most of the workers. They were immediately rushed to the Nexus and were now in the process of receiving first aid. Dozens of wizards and nurses attended them, each one skilled in abating the searing pain of body burns.

As Matthias approached the bedside of the new patient, his heart caught in his throat. He did not hesitate to elbow his way up front.

"Dear Gaia," he breathed—a phrase that quickly earned him a number of rude stares from across the room. He did not intend to utter those words, but old habits die hard. He had picked it up while on his travels to the east, but in his homeland he should have known better than to utter the name of the Goddess. Now it was too late to take it back.

Fortunately, the attention in the room shifted as Bram rushed to his side.

"Matthias, what is it?"

The knight's words gave the gray wizard back his focus, though his first thought was to slap his blind companion across his silver-haired head. "Don't you recognize who this is?"

Bram squinted, as if trying to look beyond the scars on the man's face. Suddenly, his eyes opened wide and his jaw nearly hit the ground. "Impossible … this is Prince Brandt!"

"Excuse me?" Allura lurched forward. After a few moments of staring, she appeared to come to the same conclusion. Her breath caught, and her hand rushed to cover her open lips. "Great Zohar—you're right!"

"I … I don't understand," Cedric began.

"It's the heir of Kitezh. Józef Brandt!" Allura explained. "I can't believe I didn't recognize him!"

The craftsman's expression quickly matched the other long faces at the bedside. Each of them looked down at the unconscious boy, whose face was so marred with splotches of red and blackened flesh that he was barely recognizable. His arms and legs were wrapped in gauze, which still glowed faintly blue, the color of healing magic.

Isaac shook his head. "The poor lad has gone through some severe trauma … though he's lucky to be alive. We have a lot of work to do, but hopefully we can heal most of the burns. I can't say for sure whether he'll ever be back to his old self, though. Pity … I wonder what could've happened to him."

"Well, first things first," Allura declared. "The late King Brandt was a personal friend, and I knew his son well. We shall therefore arrange our finest room, and offer him our best medical care. Is that clear, Isaac?"

The old cleric bowed. "Of course, Madam."

"Will he … lose any appendages?" Cedric asked.

"I don't know yet, but I'm confident in my abilities," Isaac assured. "If his flesh has not completely rotted, we can mend it. He'll need to undergo some of our more experimental treatments, however."

"See to it!" the One Voice demanded.

Isaac bowed again. "Yes, Madam. I'll need to prep another room and reschedule the surgery in our Burn Treatment Research Center. We've developed that laboratory specifically to look for new ways to reconstruct damaged epidermis. The work there hasn't yet been certified for broad use, so I can't promise miracles. But, if you want the best possible outcome, that's what I'd recommend."

Isaac left the bedside to converse with some of the hospital staff. Allura excused herself as well, promising to return shortly. This left Matthias, Bram, and Cedric to wait by Józef's side while he slept.

Matthias had a tough time seeing the young prince so disfigured. He thought about all the hate he had carried around since Angela's death. In his mind, he wanted to make Józef solely responsible. Perhaps, it was because he needed someone to blame. He did not want to face the truth that Angela had left willingly, or that he had been an overbearing parent. He had known that she wanted to see the world, but he had kept her sheltered in spite of that. He wanted her safe … hidden … but instead he ended up smothering her!

"How could this have happened?" he lamented. "I thought he was on his way back to Kitezh."

"So did I," Bram added. "Géorg told us that Józef's ship might have been held up by storms, but what could have caused _this_? Could he have capsized?"

"He wouldn't have been found off the northern coast, if that were the case," Cedric argued. "Rungholt is nearly a hundred leagues further east. Perhaps he was waylaid".

"You're suggesting pirates?" Matthias asked, incredulously. The northern raiders were incredibly brutish and violent. "I doubt the boy would have escaped with his life if he ran into _them_."

"He almost didn't," Cedric pointed out.

Matthias said nothing, but silently agreed. It seemed the most likely explanation.

He looked up and saw that Bram was staring at him. Matthias realized the mood had put him in poor spirits. It must have affected his body language, too. Was Bram responding to the sad and pathetic look on his face? The last thing he needed was any of the knight's newfound pity—not now! Nonetheless, it appeared that Bram was ready to open his mouth.

"Matthias—"

The old wizard cut him off. "Save your words. I just didn't want to have to see him like this. It's a good thing he's unconscious. Those frost burns are going to put him in a world of hurt when he wakes up."

"My uncle had a bad burn, once," Cedric recalled. "He was a shipwright, like my father. This one time, a poorly designed boiler exploded and sprayed hot steam all over his face and neck. The white wizards managed to save his life, but it left him with terrible scars his whole life." He sighed deeply. "I hope Master Brandt won't have to live with that."

Matthias shook his head. He had once seen Józef as a naïve and spoiled child, who got everything he wanted by demanding it rather than earning it. At the time, Matthias would have liked to see him get some kind of comeuppance … but not like this.

At last, Allura returned. She was followed by a servant carrying two musical instruments—beautifully carved lutes made from dark mahogany along the neckblock and rosewood for the ribs. Prince Brandt would have loved to see them. The servant laid both at the foot of Józef's bed.

Cedric's eyes seemed to sparkle with envy. "What are these?"

"A gift," Allura explained. "We remember how much the prince loved playing them when he visited in his youth. They're enchanted and have been with us for generations. Whenever you play on one instrument, the music is instantly heard on the other. We call them the _paradox lute_. I wanted the prince to have them when he awakens from surgery."

"That's very kind of you," Cedric commented, eyes still glued to the instruments. "I just love the lute!"

"Well, how about this?" Allura suggested. "We give one of them to Master Brandt, while you take the other."

Cedric was practically glowing when Bram stepped forward firmly. "My Lady, we can't accept—"

"Consider it our way of saying thanks," Allura insisted, "for volunteering to save our sunstone."

"It's a wonderful gesture," Bram admitted, "but none of us know how to play the lute."

"Speak for yourself," Cedric corrected, "I used to play quite a bit when I was a boy. I bet I haven't lost my touch, either."

Allura clasped her hands together in exultation. "Then it's decided! You'll take one half, while Master Brandt is given the other."

The craftsman turned his head, gazing at the knight like a child pleading with his parent to grant him sweets at the market. Matthias could not help but chuckle, and even Bram cracked a smile as he finally relented.

"It's all yours, Cedric. Just remember that we intend to travel light."

"No worries," Allura assured. She spoke a few words: _recusantem instrumento_ , and the lute shrunk to the size of her hand. "You don't even need to be trained as a wizard to perform this simple spell. The artifact itself is magical. Now you try."

Cedric repeated Allura's words, and at once, the lute sprang to normal size. "How marvelous!"

Matthias was pleased to see the craftsman's exuberance. It certainly brightened the mood and offered a brief reprieve from the constant bombardment of bad news. Matthias knew that Cedric was out of his element. It explained why he was so shy following his escape from Angkor. Of course, it remained to be seen if he would be of any use to the team—but at least he offered a bit of personality compared to the stauncher Grigori Knight.

Allura looked ready to wrap things up. "I'm glad you think so, Mister Curtis. But now, I must now ask that you leave Master Brandt to us so that we can move on to the next phase of treatment. I assure you that we'll take good care of him. And, since the initial surgery has been postponed, Isaac has agreed to spend a few minutes discussing how to get you into Garda. I'll take you to him."

The beautiful cleric beckoned with her hand as she glided into an adjacent hallway.

Isaac met them just beyond the threshold. "Please, come this way," he stated, giving Allura a chance to return to the burn ward to take care of Józef.

Matthias followed the old cleric through an unassuming wooden door, located further down the hallway. It led to a dusty set of stairs down to an old basement, where a torch-lit stone passage connected to what appeared to be a set of supply storage rooms. At the end of the corridor, they arrived at a room containing stalls filled with exotic animals. On one side, Matthias noted the fast-running silverfox with its fluffy three tails. On the other paced the rare white winterwarg, its huge hulking mass easily twice the size of the average wolf.

The handsome cleric explained. "All of these animals are here because of their curative properties. For example, the milk of a silverfox can boost the body's immune system, while a tuft of fur from a winterwarg can bring down a fever if brewed into a tea. We research these natural cures in the hope of one day being able to produce them synthetically. Years ago, we even housed the legendary dragon-weevil. Unfortunately, they're notoriously difficult to keep in captivity. All of our previous eggs have long since perished."

Bram heaved a remorseful sigh, looking ready to delve into another of his inane monologues. "A few weeks ago, Józef Brandt took us through the marshes of Kitezh. We needed to find the egg of a dragon-weevil to cure a magical disease afflicting one of our companions. Unfortunately, the creature attacked us. I was forced to kill it in self-defense, though I deeply regret it."

Isaac raised his eyebrows. "Until recently, it would have been hard to believe that such a tame creature would lash out. But sadly, things have changed ever since the spawn arrived."

Cedric scrunched his brow, looking intently curious. "You think there's a connection between the spawn and misbehaving animals?"

"Of course," Isaac answered. "We clerics have studied these creatures for years, as well as their effect on the Zohar."

Just mentioning the bloody Zohar sent shivers of frustration through Matthias' body. The last thing he needed was yet another round of tedium from the damned clerics and their aether!

"Oh, for crying out loud!" he blurted. "We already sat through one painful explanation of the Zohar. We don't need another."

Isaac smiled. "I take it you're not a believer, then? I find it interesting, given that you grew up in Vineta."

Matthias responded with a mighty harrumph. "I don't need Gaia or the Zohar! And I don't need an explanation of magic or of life in order to appreciate them. They just _are_."

"What about you?" Isaac posed to Bram and Cedric.

The craftsman shrugged. "I tend to believe in proven theories, such as the physical laws that govern the airships I build with my own two hands. I discovered how to fly without requiring magic or knowledge of the Zohar."

"And you?" the cleric posed to Bram.

Matthias bit his tongue while the knight stood silent for a long time. He was about to cut it short before Bram finally spoke.

"I don't know. I suppose I used to reject things that didn't make sense to me, but with all that's happened in the last few weeks, I don't know what to believe."

"Hmm …." Isaac looked at the three men thoughtfully. "One man has given up his search for answers, while another man puts his faith in science and technology. I might have guessed the first two on my own, but the greatest surprise comes from the former Gnostic Knight. I would have expected you to snub your nose at our religion, but instead you came here with an open mind."

Matthias was starting to lose his patience. They were already late in leaving Kish, and yet it seemed like every man and woman in the Nexus wanted to preach their faith. "Is there a point to any of this?" he demanded.

Isaac shrugged. "I was simply curious, dear sage. You're unwilling to believe in the Zohar, yet you choose to put your life on the line for our Capricorn Stone."

"And you doubt my reasons?" Matthias retorted angrily, feeling a challenge to his integrity. "Wanting to stop a bunch of madmen from collecting the sunstones doesn't need faith, and it has nothing to do with religion!"

"Matthias!" Bram scolded. "What's gotten into you? We were only speculating about whether there might be a connection between the strange behavior of animals and Isaac's understanding of the Zohar. We should be listening to all viewpoints with an open mind—not acting as if it were a personal attack."

The old wizard thought about the knight's words, and he was willing to back down. "Oh, all right! Perhaps I have given up searching for answers. I just don't think it's relevant—and that's how I feel! But I'm no less committed to protecting the sunstones."

"Fair enough, Master Deleuze," Isaac noted, his voice steady and patient. "I'm in no position to judge you. Like I said, I was simply curious. As for the Zohar and animal behavior, we clerics have done quite a bit of research in this area. Would you like to hear more about what we've discovered?"

Bram nodded enthusiastically. "Yes. Please continue, Isaac."

"I'm interested as well," Cedric added.

Matthias crossed his arms, ready to swallow a little pride if it meant hurrying up the conversation and getting out of this musty basement. "Well, go on. Don't let _me_ stop you."

There was no mistaking Bram's angry glare. For some reason, the knight was beginning to get more irritable over trifling little things. Matthias wondered how he had managed to get a stick up his butt, but he was willing to set it aside to let the wiseacre speak.

Isaac seemed not to notice the gray wizard's discord. He continued in a polite manner. "I won't bore you with the details, so I'll summarize with two key findings. The first concerns the energy signature of spawn and animal species. Are you all familiar with this concept?"

Matthias did not expect Bram or Cedric to have any experience in this area, so he stepped forward with a quick answer. "A creature's energy signature is unique to each species. It's like a code. It's the thing that makes a bird a bird, or a fish a fish."

"Or separates one man or woman from another," Isaac added.

Matthias grunted. "I've heard about wizards experimenting with the energy signatures of live spawn, but they never seemed to get a stable reading."

"All true," Isaac confirmed, "but one of our clerics managed to do it, and what we found was extraordinary. When it comes to the energy signature, do you know what makes spawn different from other animal species, Master Deleuze?"

Matthias sensed a trick question. There was no doubt Isaac was testing him—no doubt to make him look like a fool. Even so, he was curious enough about the research that he decided to take the bait.

"I suppose you're going to tell me that spawn are altered versions of regular animal species—that their energy signature has been changed. But that's hardly profound. Many wizards have speculated along the same lines. Some think that dark pockets of magic deep underground may have caused wandering animals to mutate into the creatures we now call spawn."

"That's actually not what we found," Isaac stated, much to Matthias' surprise. "In fact, as far as we can tell, spawn signatures are virtually identical to the animal species from which they originated."

Matthias was further intrigued, not to mention happy the topic had shifted to something with actual data. He also noted the look of surprise on both Cedric and Bram, who looked like they had just been slapped in the face.

"Are you saying that spawn are essentially the same as common animal species?" Cedric demanded. "How can that be?"

Matthias started rubbing his hands together, a quirk that often came when he was intellectually aroused. "Spawn are clearly different from common animals," he reasoned. "But if the energy signatures are the same … then what we might be looking at … is a _curse_."

The old cleric smiled, and Matthias sensed an unspoken I-told-you-so. The gray wizard frowned. It was true that he had scoffed at Isaac's mention of the Zohar, but now they were talking about actual data. There was a difference!

"You are correct, Master Deleuze. As you know, curses are different than transmutations. While the latter can alter the appearance and temperament of a creature, the effects are unstable and won't last for very long. That's because a creature's body will always revert back to their original energy state."

"Right," Matthias agreed, "but curses can last a lifetime, because they alter the original energy state." He felt the surge of excitement that usually came along with new enlightenment. Of course, he did not want to give Isaac the satisfaction of seeing him too excited.

With a more reserved stance, he fired back. "However, I'm sure you're aware that only highly experienced wizards can cast a curse. And even then, there's never been a case that has completely changed the appearance of the test subject. The changes are usually minor: crossed eyes, missing tails, fur turns blue, that kind of thing … not to mention that most academic communities consider it to be an abominable art."

Isaac held his smile as he waited for Matthias to piece it all together.

The gray wizard was happy to oblige. "Therefore, you must have concluded that no ordinary wizard could have cast such a spell. Nor could it have been any kind of natural mutation. Otherwise, you would have observed a different signature."

"Precisely," Isaac confirmed.

"Wait, I don't understand," Cedric lamented. "Then who _did_ create spawn?"

"The Ahrimen," Bram concluded. "That's what you intended to imply, isn't it, Isaac?"

The old cleric nodded. "Correct, Sir Morrison—which brings me to the clerics' second key finding. This one took huge efforts from our best historians, but we think we've found enough supporting evidence for our hypothesis. It's in regard to the creatures that supposedly served the Ahrimen a thousand years ago. We now believe these were in fact the same spawn we know today."

"But we never had a problem with spawn until mid-way through the War," Cedric pointed out. "Does that mean there's truth to the rumors that spawn came from underground?"

"Not quite, Mister Curtis," Isaac verified. "Spawn could not have survived in hiding all this time. The ones that served the Ahrimen many centuries ago are now gone. However, we believe that the spawn of today have been spontaneously appearing. In fact, we've finally been able to observe a case where an animal turns into spawn right before our eyes, without any signs or warnings. We believe the first case of this started mid-way through the War, but it's been increasing ever since at an alarming rate."

Matthias almost doubled over. At last, Isaac had dropped his bomb shell.

"Holy Goddess!" Bram squealed. "I apologize for my outburst, Isaac, but if what you say is true, then the magic of the Ahrimen is already rampant in the world!"

"But the timing doesn't make sense," Cedric blurted, his voice sounding panicked. "If spawn are created by the Ahrimen casting curses upon animal species, then how did they do this while still trapped inside their sunstones? The first sunstone had not yet been taken from Minoa until just a few weeks ago!"

Isaac's lips were pressed tightly together. "It is indeed a mystery. However, we are confident in our findings. The only explanation is that the Ahrimen must have found a way to spread their curses across the planet, even while imprisoned inside the sunstones."

"And you think it's somehow related to the misbehaving animals?" Bram asked.

"We do," Isaac responded. "Many have experienced domestic animals refusing to work. Sometimes, they'll even attack their masters unprovoked, which is similar to your account of the dragon-weevil, Sir Morrison. It's possible that their change in behavior is an early indicator of the Ahrimen's curse."

Matthias groaned. By now, he had to acknowledge that Isaac's theories had merit.

But Bram was not finished. He looked genuinely interested in digging deeper into the conversation. "Isaac … based on what Allura told us, I'd imagine the Ahrimen's magic would have already put some amount of strain on the Zohar."

The old cleric bowed. "You are most astute, Sir Morrison. We clerics are quite concerned about the overall health of the aether that surrounds our world. We fear the curse of the spawn is merely a harbinger of even worse things to come. Just consider the alarming rate at which spawn have spread across the world. It's a clear indication that the Ahrimen's power continues to grow, far in excess of what you've already experienced in Angkor."

The room turned deathly silent. It was clear that the urgency to protect the sunstones had just become even more intense.

Cedric was the first to speak. "Isaac, would you mind if I asked a question?"

"Of course," the old cleric responded.

The craftsman shifted his footing, looking uncomfortable. "Could these curses also affect humans in the same way as animals?"

The old cleric looked stumped, and his expression grew nervous. "It's a horrifying thought, to be sure," he admitted. "However, we've not yet observed any indication that these curses have crossed over to the human world. Still, I believe there would be merit in exploring that hypothesis further."

"All the more reason to recover the Capricorn Stone as soon as possible," Bram suggested, looking quite pale.

Isaac nodded. "Speaking of which, allow me to show you why I brought you here."

The old cleric led Matthias and the others further into the Nexus' basement, past multiple cages filled with exotic animals. At the back of the room was a much larger stall. The floor was lined with straw and a horse-sized animal huddled in a dark corner.

Isaac removed a lantern from the wall and approached a wooden barrel. "Our hope with this creature was to produce a serum with universal curative properties. While not quite as potent as the dragon-weevil's, it's our last chance to complete our research."

From inside the barrel, the cleric withdrew what appeared to be a root vegetable. As soon as it was exposed to the air, a lizard-like face emerged from the dark corner. It sniffed the air cautiously as it slowly approached Isaac's offering.

"It looks like a viscar," Cedric observed. "But wait … it has wings!"

"It's a … a _dragon_ ," Matthias breathed, another surge of excitement coursing through his veins. Any wizard worth his salt would have traded his right arm for a chance to see one of these majestic creatures. "But, I thought they'd already gone extinct centuries ago."

"Not quite," Isaac corrected. "Dragons were the precursors of the viscar species. While they've lost their wings over multiple generations, along with that evolution came immunities to many diseases. Sadly, dragons do not have the same immunities, and as a result have dwindled to only a few remaining in this world. We've known about their existence for quite some time, but we've kept it secret in order to protect them."

"How have they gone so long without anyone else finding them?" Bram asked.

Isaac chuckled. "Just like viscars, they're good at keeping themselves hidden."

The old cleric lowered his head, and his eyes seemed to carry an incredible sadness. "Unfortunately, there's only one area where they're known to reside, and it's surrounded by powerful spawn. As a result, we're now unable to reach it, and this mare is all we have left. A dragon's blood can cure almost anything, and we've been trying to use it sparingly for our research. Sadly, we've yet to succeed with our serum, and fear that our last remaining subject will not survive the winter. The poor thing is heartbroken without the others, and she hasn't eaten anything besides her favorite root in weeks."

Matthias felt terrible about the decline of the dragon species. Many old tales had mentioned them, but the closest he had ever been to one was the skeletal exhibit in the natural history museum at Tanis when he was a young man. It was heartbreaking to think these noble creatures had once walked the planet, but were now reduced to a few stragglers clinging to life around the Vinetan forests.

"How tragic," Cedric grieved.

"Indeed," Bram agreed. "But what can we do? And how does this help us to reach Garda?"

"Dragons are capable of flight, Sir Morrison," Isaac explained. "This mare can't help you, but I can tell you where to find their grove. If you can reach it and tame them, I believe they'll take you to the Elfen capital."

"But what about the anti-magic field?" Bram pressed.

Matthias smiled. "Dragons can pass through magical barriers. Arcesilaus will never expect this. We can take him by surprise!"

The old cleric's lips curled upward. It seemed he shared the gray wizard's enthusiasm. "That's what we were hoping, too, Master Deleuze. Of course, you should know that the route is incredibly dangerous. Like I said, powerful spawn are known to reside in that area."

"We're prepared to meet the challenge," Bram promised.

Isaac let out a deep breath. "Good. Then follow me to my study. I'll chart you a course."


	7. Chapter 8, Part VI

**.**

* * *

 **Part VI**

 _After Midnight of Denuo, Thirty-First Day of Autumnmoon_

* * *

Kane Harding bolted upright. His heart sent tremors throughout his chest. He threw off the sweat-drenched bed-sheets surrounding his sticky body and tried to slow his breathing. He thought back to the source of so much dread, but his recent memories were obscured behind a dark veneer that coated the back of his mind. All he knew was that he had dreamt this nightmare before … several times, in fact. It was a familiar succubus that too often robbed him of a good night's sleep.

Morning was still hours away, and it would be full of toilsome chores. He laid back, closing his eyes, trying to reacquaint himself with sleep's comforting embrace. Unfortunately, the soft caress of his succubus kept him restless. The small confines of his aluminum-clad cabin made him feel like he slept in a coffin, and his tingling nerves felt like worms wriggling inside his mattress.

His mind wandered, wondering which of life's poor choices was most to blame for his current unrest. It had only been a few weeks since he had first met the Gnostic, Samuel Cortez. The knight was neither the beginning nor the end of Kane's story, but he had certainly impacted Kane's life. What had started out as a mutually beneficial agreement ended up evolving into a pact of loyalty stronger than any other—including Kane's time within the Order of Templars. He had his doubts at first, but now he was committed. There was no turning back.

Besides, he had already come so far and forsaken so much. Not as much as some other men aboard the Zounds airship, many who had given up their homes, wives, and children … just for the opportunity to share in the rewards that Samuel had promised them. Kane, on the other hand, had already sacrificed these dreams by the time he joined the Templar organization. For him, the far greater loss had been his dear childhood friend.

As Kane drifted back to sleep, thoughts of Bram Morrison conjured latent memories. Many people had seen the former Gnostic as a strong and confident leader. However, Kane had known him long before that ….

 _In a small schoolhouse overlooking the farming village of Providence, a new student stood before an angry and impatient classroom. Little Abraham was timid and shy, and the other kids laughed at his silvery hair. The first day, Kane found him cowering in the corner of the room while the older boys threw spitballs._

 _It was during recess, while the teacher was distracted in the schoolyard. Kane hated injustice of any kind, having far too often been the target of it himself. So he marched across the room and overturned one of the desks close to the bullying boys. Whether the act startled them or they simply feared the crazed look in his eyes, they bolted for the door._

 _Meanwhile, a tear-streaked Bram withdrew deeper into the corner, probably fearing that Kane would come for him next. Kane tried to make himself look less threatening by offering his hand. After a few moments, the fearful younger child slowly made his way forward. He accepted Kane's gesture, and it marked the first moment of a new friendship._

 _Something about looking after someone smaller and weaker made Kane feel good about himself. He was like a benevolent protector, rather than a useless piece of garbage. Any time Bram needed help, Kane was there to intervene. When Bram had a dilemma or personal issue, Kane offered to be his confidante. When Bram wanted advice, Kane happily imparted his wisdom. The more Bram needed, the more Kane wanted to give. His efforts were a form of validation, proving that he was indeed the kind and just person he had always wanted to be. The friendship was perfect … a mutually beneficial union that he hoped would last forever._

 _Sadly, it would not. As Bram matured, he outgrew Kane's tutelage and began to excel of his own accord. At first, Kane was happy to see Bram more confident and independent. But as time passed, he became envious. His role as guardian was over, and now he needed to excel by his own merit. He had dedicated years of his life toward Bram's success, and suddenly Bram did not need him anymore. By the time both boys reached graduation, Kane felt useless and unappreciated._

 _He and Bram both received distinctive acceptances into the Academy, but while Bram seemed to fit in nicely, Kane felt awkward and pushed aside. Bram made new friends quickly, while Kane kept to himself. Bram coasted through his coursework and aced every exam, while Kane struggled. Kane felt trapped, smothered by his best friend's shadow. He was desperate to break free, to prove that he was better, or at least to return to equal footing._

 _In his senior year, Kane put some serious thought into how to turn the tables. With his grades in bad shape, besting Bram at academics was unrealistic. He needed another way to differentiate himself … something that would change the game. That was when he first heard about the Order of Templars._

 _The group often recruited students at the Academy under the slogan, "The Nation's Most Lawful and Respected Guardians." The title rang true to Kane's vision of himself, and he made it his unfettered goal to be accepted into their order._

 _Luckily, he had a second cousin with prominent connections who helped him to get an interview with a well-known recruiter. With a bit of coaching from his cousin, Kane told the recruiter everything he wanted to hear. He fought hard for the position and at last received his acceptance letter._

 _He remembered the day he packed his belongings. The first snowstorm of the season had just hit, and many of his peers were outdoors enjoying a snowball fight. Bram had stopped by his dormitory room, just as Kane had planned. He could not wait to see the look of jealousy on Bram's face. He hoped to bask in the respect and admiration that he had patiently awaited … that he had long deserved._

 _Instead, his best friend looked pitiful, like a boy saying goodbye to a big brother heading off to war. For a moment, Kane wondered if his assumptions about Bram were all wrong. Perhaps Bram had not cast him aside. Perhaps he still desired his friendship._

 _Kane felt like a fool. He wanted to undo his prideful choices and finish the Academy alongside his friend … but it was too late. He could never turn back and save face—nor would Bram ever understand his reasons._

 _Instead, he followed through on his commitment to the Templar order, suffering through years of harsh training while they broke and remolded him into a weapon for King Richard. Their torturous drills and relentless conditioning stripped him of his youthful ideologies, turning him into a hardened soldier._

 _Years later, while on a brief leave of absence, he had intended to reconnect with his long-lost friend. He wanted to stand before the boy he had known from childhood and show off his superior rank and privilege. He wanted to prove how far he had come … to show that all the blood and sweat had been worth it._

 _Instead, the surprise and disappointment hit him like a hurricane. Apparently, Bram had also progressed in rank. In fact, he had joined the Gnostic Knights and was captain of his own airship and crew. In some ways it made his rank higher and more distinguished. And finally, the bastard had stolen favor with King Richard—a privilege that should have been reserved for the Templars!_

 _Kane's insecurities returned in full force, waves of inadequacy washing over him. All his hard work had been for nothing! Somehow, Bram had rendered his accomplishments meaningless by comparison. That day, Kane shut himself indoors, isolated and alone. He left Bram ignorant of his desires to reconnect, while he stewed in his tiny quarters, letting all the accumulated envy and bitterness condense into a deep and personal animus._

 _Soon after was the Battle of Dobb's Plain. It was a turning point in the War, as well as Kane's own life. He would never forget the day it had all come to the head of a pin. His negligence and cowardice had led to an incident so shameful he could not bear it. When the authorities found out, they would sentence him to death, and all the world would know about it. The dread and anxiety drove him to the point of madness. After a night of sorrowful contemplation, he decided his only escape … was to take his own life._

 _It had not been an easy decision. Neither was it simple to acquire the means with which to do it painlessly. He had searched long and hard, finally discovering a poison bereft of known side effects. One small dose would cause a man to fall asleep and never reawaken. It was perfect._

 _There he was, in the city of Niedam, on the worst day of his life. He had just purchased the potion from his black market contact, when he was approached by a Gnostic Knight named Samuel Cortez._

 _The meeting was surreal. As soon as the knight removed his skull-shaped helm, Kane thought he had lost his mind. He gazed upon the face of his childhood friend, wondering if he had somehow grafted the figure subconsciously onto a complete stranger. He did not even trust his own sanity until Samuel explained that he was in fact Bram's twin brother._

 _The news was shocking. Bram had grown up an orphaned child with no knowledge of his blood relatives, but the proof was in simply looking at the man. Had the knight only shaved his beard, the features would have been identical …._

Kane tossed and turned. He was still in his bed aboard the Zounds airship, confined to his dark cramped cabin, drifting in and out of sleep. He was tired and weary, but still haunted by his troubled memories.

 _Samuel claimed that their meeting was no accident. In fact, he seemed to have plenty of knowledge about Kane's crime, which made the Templar feel cornered … invaded … terrified with what the knight might do with that information. However, Samuel assured Kane that he was on his side. He said he had the power to bury the evidence, and that he would ensure no one would ever find out about the alleged conduct. Given time and the right amount of effort, Samuel believed it would all blow over._

 _Kane was in disbelief. Such an unbelievable blessing would surely come with a price, but he was too enthralled to care how large. Somewhere in between ecstasy and skepticism, he begged this friendly Gnostic to tell him more. Certainly, any form of payment or favor would be preferable over a gruesome death!_

 _As expected, the knight was happy to oblige. He brought Kane to a nearby inn, where an empty nook awaited them. It offered plenty of privacy, with the comforting flames of beeswax candles allowing Kane the right mood to collect his thoughts. He was still a wreck, having been only moments away from taking his own life. But at least there was a chance that had not been there before. He bit his thumbnail in anticipation as his stomach churned and fears gnawed at his insides._

 _Samuel made himself comfortable on the other side of the table, sitting with perfect posture. He declined a drink from the table wench, but ordered a mug of ale for Kane. As soon as the server delivered the frothy stein, the knight spoke._

 _"One might say you're special, Mister Harding … perhaps, even unique."_

 _Kane was without words. His body was numb and he stared at the mug without even the slightest desire to drink. If Samuel had only arrived a few moments later, Kane would have had deadly poison coursing through his veins. Instead, fate had intervened—extending his life at the last possible moment. But at what price? Was it truly a miracle … or a curse?_

 _"How so?" he mumbled, curious why anyone would think he was special._

 _"You grew up with my brother, of course." Samuel leaned forward. "He trusts you. And that is not a thing he shares with many others."_

 _Trust … Kane might have been in shock over his near-death experience, but he was lucid enough to understand Samuel's implication. It was written all over the Gnostic's face._

 _"You want me to deceive him, don't you?"_

 _The knight grinned, creating a set of dimples that were so much like Bram's. "You catch on quickly. That's good."_

 _Any other time, and Kane would have bolted for the door. The whole reason he was in so much trouble was because of the dishonorable act he had committed. The last thing he needed was to compound his sins by deceiving his best friend. He might have been jealous, but deep down he knew his contempt came from his own failings and poor life choices—not from anything Bram had done directly. He wanted to see his haughty friend brought down to his level, but he had no wish to get involved in a quarrel between two brothers._

 _Samuel changed his tone immediately. "It's not what you think, Mister Harding. Hear me out before you walk out that door. I believe that deceiving my brother is the only way to help him."_

 _Kane tensed, wondering how Samuel knew what he was thinking. "What are you—some kind of Diviner?"_

 _Samuel bellowed a hearty laugh. "Hardly. I've trained in black magic, but you should know it can't be used to read another man's mind. I was merely interpreting your body language—the way the blood drained from your face and your eyes shifted nervously to the door. As I've already mentioned, I have studied you for a long time. In fact, I bet I know you more than you know yourself."_

 _A dark cloud descended over the Gnostic as he spoke. Kane felt himself inching backward, angered by the invasion of his privacy, but afraid by the candor of the knight's words. He could sense the Specter of Death watching over him. It waited for him to decline Samuel's offer, knowing full well what would happen without the knight's protection. For his crimes, Kane would be sentenced to a slow and painful execution, and Samuel was the only thing standing in its way._

 _For an instant, he almost considered walking away in spite of what might happen. He glanced again at the wooden door leading out of the inn. He longed to be free of his waking nightmare, but knew of only one way to survive it. Though he felt as if he might regret it, he turned to his darksteel savior. "What can I do to help?"_

 _Samuel smiled. "That's better. However, I'd urge you to consider my proposal carefully, Mister Harding. There's much at stake, but if you succeed, you'll not just be helping a friend. In fact, if you help Bram to see things our way, you'll both have a share in the rewards."_

 _"Bram, too?" Kane was incredulous. "Why not go to him directly and offer this so-called reward? What's stopping him from 'seeing things your way'?"_

 _Samuel scoffed. "Need I remind you of his stubbornness?" The question was clearly rhetorical, since the knight gave him no time to respond. "My brother's in trouble, Mister Harding, and yet he refuses to acknowledge it. That's why I'm willing to resort to deception."_

 _Kane's interest was piqued. Bram was in trouble … he wondered what dirty little secrets his boyhood friend might have kept hidden, and he was overcome with curiosity._

 _"What did he do? Please … I can't help you if you don't tell me."_

 _The Gnostic leaned back, using his right hand to stroke his beard. "Very well. As you know, Abraham is a very proud man. Unfortunately, he sometimes forgets his place in the world."_

 _Kane chuckled under his breath, knowing exactly what Samuel meant. "Yeah … tell me about it."_

 _"Indeed," the knight responded. "Except, this time, he may have crossed the wrong man."_

 _Kane froze. There was only one man in Angkor whose anger even the Gnostics feared. "You can't mean King Richard?"_

 _Samuel nodded. "I do, Mister Harding. Bram has gone against the king's orders and is playing a very dangerous game."_

 _Kane was stunned, wondering how it could possibly be true. Bram had always been the paragon of discernment and responsibility. The idea that he had gone against King Richard was almost too absurd to comprehend._

 _Kane shook his head, trying to make sense of it, when he was startled by a thunderous noise. Samuel had pounded the table with his fist, nearly toppling the mug of ale. Kane bolted upright from his trance, wiping away splashes of mead that had landed on his arms and chest._

 _"Do I have your attention, Mister Harding?" the Gnostic demanded. "My brother needs your help. Will I have your cooperation, or not?"_

 _Kane's whole body shook, and it took effort to keep his voice steady. "Ye—yes, of course!"_

 _"Good." Samuel was immediately back to composure. "Here's what I need you to do …."_

 _Just like that, the knight explained his idea for a secret mission. King Richard needed the Conjurion tribe of Ur exterminated, but the exercise would also serve as a chance for Bram to prove his loyalty. The task was relatively simple—one that a Gnostic Knight and Templar could easily accomplish by themselves, especially with the help of a certain enchanted box._

 _However, Samuel warned Kane about Bram's hubris. It was his brother's last chance for redemption. If he took the mission off track, Kane would need to make sure he never made it back home._

 _Kane cringed at the mere thought, but he understood what Samuel meant. King Richard did not treat betrayal lightly. Traitors were often drawn and quartered as a lesson to others. Kane did not want his friend to suffer that fate, and apparently neither did Samuel. If Bram resisted … if he persisted in his ways … it would be a mercy to kill him quickly._

 _Even so, Kane had no reason to expect such a scenario. He knew his best friend was prideful, but Bram was not stupid. In fact, Kane was almost eager to use the mission as a means to rekindle his old friendship. It was not just a trial to test Bram's loyalty, but also a chance for Kane to help his little buddy. It would be just like the good old days, when both friends stood on equal footing. Kane was confident he could help Bram complete the mission, and he hoped—if he did his job well—it would be like the last ten years never happened. He could then return to the time when Bram looked up to him as a respectful guardian._

 _Kane worked hard toward this goal. He knew what was at stake and did all he could to facilitate Bram's task. He wanted his friend to succeed more than anything! But for some reason, Bram resisted at every opportunity. Kane began to fear that perhaps Samuel had been right about his brother's pride._

 _Bram had clearly struggled with the ethics of the mission. Kane had seen it happen with other soldiers. The trauma and stress that came with ending other people's lives, the internal struggle of choosing loyalty over a man's own conscience … these were brutal on the soul. Even so, he never expected to see it in a veteran of the War, whose death toll outshined ten or twenty other men's full careers._

 _Bram should have easily been able to handle this simple conflict, but instead he was confrontational and divisive. Kane almost considered telling him the truth, just so he would realize what was at stake. There was a moment … high up in the mountains of Ur, deep in a jungle forest, at the precipice of a mighty waterfall … where Bram had Kane pinned to the ground. The full force of the Gnostic's weight squeezed the air out of Kane's lungs, until the Templar came close to blurting out the whole story. But he never had the chance. The enchanted box opened of its own accord, and from its maw belched death and destruction._

 _At that point, there was no turning back. His old friend had assumed the worst, and there was no way to placate his fury. Kane was willing to accept the knight's hatred, but he never expected Bram to turn his sword against his best friend. The blade might as well have sliced his heart wide open when its point hovered dangerously close to his collar bone. One small nick of a Gnostic's sword, and Kane would have been writhing on the ground taking in his last agonizing breaths._

 _Kane was hardly the bravest of men. Had it been any other Gnostic, he would have scurried backward along the ground in fear for his life. But for Bram, he stood his ground. He was determined to help his friend see through his own stubbornness. So for one final time, he tried to reason with him._

 _Unfortunately, the knight would not have it. He called Kane a murderer, as if he were a ruffian of the worst kind! But, this was an honorable mission sanctioned by the king. Bram had no right! His words stung worse than the poison that Kane had intended to use to end his own life. They validated his worst fears about himself. That he was useless … nothing but garbage … to be thrown away._

 _No! Kane would_ not _be labeled a failure! Not by this washed-up knight, nor by any other! He stood up, now more determined than ever to complete his mission. Nothing would stand in his way!_

 _He ran into the flames of the burning village. His mission was to exterminate the Conjurion threat … and he would complete it or die trying. After an exhaustive search, he arrived at the center of the village. Bram was there, protecting the life of a young savage. Kane gave him the chance to walk away, but he refused. Now it was time to end it …._

 _The next several moments were a blur. Utter agony. A magical clash of Angkorian weaponry. A scream that echoed off of every surface. Charcoal husks of trees and huts raging with flames. The ground split open. Magma oozed out of every crevice. The heat so intense … it burned!_

 _Before Kane had a chance to get his bearings, Bram was gone. He had left his best friend behind for a strange tribal child. Meanwhile, the valley of Ur burned all around him. Scorching flames from all sides. His flesh blistered. Lungs filled with tar. He stumbled through a path of ash and coal, choking on the blackened fumes of his failure._

 _For a moment, he thought about walking directly into the fire. He wanted to feel its wrath … to be cleansed of his miseries. The only man he had ever loved just stabbed him in the back. And yet, he still lacked the conviction to end his life. He wanted death, but not by his own hand. He might have been a failure, but he did not want to die a coward._

 _Instead, he stumbled back to Angkor. It took him days to backtrack across mountains and plains due to his many injuries. Had he not been steeped in depression, he would have made use of his wilderness training. Unfortunately, he was unable to perform the simplest of tasks. By the time he wandered into Niedam, he was nearly starved and delirious from lack of food and sleep. He stumbled, fell into a dark alleyway, and closed his eyes. At last, it seemed that Death would soon take him …._

Back outside his dream world, aboard the Zounds airship, Kane twisted and turned in his sleep. Vivid memories kept him in Limbo, writhing under damp bed sheets ….

 _He was supposed to be dead. Either his burns or his hunger should have killed him. Instead, he awoke in a_ _small chamber—dark, but unmistakably like a kind of living quarter. He laid on a cot, undressed, but fully healed of all burns. On closer inspection, he noted cold aluminum walls and floor. There was also a dull humming in the background. Like an airship engine, but far larger. He figured he must have been brought aboard one of the larger industrial designs._

 _He did not remember anything since passing out in Niedam. It was a strange place under even stranger circumstances … and the tiny room felt claustrophobic. He took deep breaths, feeling as if the air grew thinner by the moment. He found a set of civilian clothes folded in a pile on the floor, but his armor was nowhere to be seen. He was eager to get out of the cramped room, so with nothing else handy, he threw on the plain-looking tan-colored garb and rushed for the door!_

 _As soon as he stepped outside, he found himself in a long hallway. Everything was walls of dull aluminum. The grayish metal took on a haunting shade under dim luminess, which hung in strips overhead. It looked like a military compound, closely matching the descriptions he had heard of an airship known as the Goliath._

 _It was Angkor's largest battleship, built to be an incredible force of war. Unfortunately, it ended up being defeated by its own poor timing. The design faced multiple delays, and its final completion was within a few weeks of the end of the War. It never saw a single battle._

 _Moreover, it required constant maintenance and supervision, making it too expensive for use in peacetime missions. Kane thought he remembered that the design was scheduled for decommissioning, meaning it would be disassembled for spare parts. The same had already happened to Angkor's other galleon-class design, which made it all the more mysterious how he had managed to end up on board._

 _He tried to get his bearings, but he had no way to orient himself. He could have been facing either bow or stern. While standing in a fog over what to do next, he saw three men in soldier's uniforms rush past him. He nearly jumped as they passed by, though they never even acknowledged his presence. Certainly, he was not a trespasser on this ship, but he hardly seemed a welcome visitor either. Desperate for answers, he hustled after them._

 _The jog took him through multiple long empty corridors until the soldiers halted in front of a steel-reinforced door. As soon as they stopped, one of them turned around to face him. Kane took several steps back, startled at the sight of bright-blue glowing eyes. The soldier reached out and grabbed Kane by the collar. Before he knew it, he felt himself get lifted off the floor. The man hardly even strained a muscle!_

 _"Who are you?" the soldier demanded in a voice devoid of emotion._

 _Kane gripped the man's arm, struggling to free himself … but it was useless. The man's strength was … inhuman._

 _"You may put him down," another man's deep voice ordered from behind. Kane recognized the voice, which came with the clank of steel boots as Samuel Cortez strode down the corridor._

 _The soldier released his grip, causing Kane to tumble with a thud upon the hard aluminum. Ignoring the pain in his backside, he shimmied backward, trying to place as much distance as possible between him and the soldier. Meanwhile, Samuel gazed down, his face obscured by his Gnostic helm._

 _The knight held out his hand, though Kane regarded it skeptically. He expected the real Samuel to be furious about his failure to help his brother, not this kind knight who so generously offered to help Kane off the floor. Though he maintained his caution, Kane reached up and accepted the gesture._

 _"Follow me," the knight ordered as soon as Kane was on his feet._

 _Again, Kane hesitated. The response was just as cold as usual for Samuel, but it did not sound angry. Kane glanced over his shoulder, but saw that the glowing-eyed soldiers had already marched through the blast door on their way to their next duties._

 _Kane was by himself in the empty hallway, captive inside this aluminum-clad air base. He figured if Samuel had wished him harm, there was nothing he could do to stop it, so he might as well see what the Gnostic had in store._

 _He certainly did not fear death at this point. After so many close calls, he had grown accustomed to the ongoing threats. In fact, ending it all would be a blessing. So with no other reason to object, Kane scurried after Samuel, his boots sending a hollow series of clanks that echoed down the cold metal halls._

 _The knight led him to a room that appeared empty except for a pool of still water in the center. Kane sighed, frustrated by the continued mystery of his surroundings._

 _"Why bring me here?" he questioned._

 _"You finished your mission," Samuel responded, "but I'm not done with you yet."_

 _The Gnostic spoke some words of magic, and the pool of water turned a steel blue. Kane was familiar enough with black wizardry to recognize a scrying pool, but he did not know what the knight intended to show with it. He was irked by the lack of answers and hoped that Samuel would just hurry up and dole out his punishment._

 _"I failed," Kane blurted out, eager to get to the point. "I couldn't help Bram, and he renounced King Richard as well as the Gnostic Order!" He wanted to scream. "I'm done with him! I tried my best to reason with him … but he stabbed me in the back! I really don't care what you do to me at this point."_

 _Samuel stared back through his helm's soulless eyes. Kane felt himself cringing. Sure, he welcomed death, but he feared what else the knight might do to him …._

 _Instead, Samuel unclasped his helm and removed it, placing it on the floor nearby. It revealed a face that was far from any anger. "Who said anything about failure?" he smirked. "You were successful in removing the Conjurion threat."_

 _Kane scoffed, now utterly confused. "I thought that restoring Bram's loyalty was the primary objective. I told you I failed. Didn't you hear me?"_

 _Kane felt a pressure latch around his chest. His heart stopped beating, sending him to his knees. Samuel's hand had clenched into a fist, but as soon as he reopened it, the feeling passed._

 _"I'll say this only once," Samuel stated, his face once again cold and devoid of emotion. "Insolence will not be tolerated. Beyond that, I wish you no harm and will gladly give you the clarity you yearn to hear."_

 _Kane nodded, rubbing his chest with a trembling hand as he slowly rose to his feet._

 _Samuel waved his arm while speaking words of magic. The surface of the scrying pool swirled, showing an image that Kane recognized with pure dread. It was the burning village of Ur, as well as his deadly confrontation with Bram. There were no sounds, no words, but Kane saw the scene unfold, up to the point when he and Bram faced off. His weapon clashed against his best friend's blade in a violent torrent that shook the valley to its very core._

 _Scores of buried emotions flooded back as Kane watched the years of friendship burn before his eyes. The pain formed salty droplets that oozed from the edges of his scrunched eyelids. Rage, fury, and despondence brought him back to his knees in front of the pool._

 _"Do not avert your eyes, Mister Harding," Samuel urged. "Look! Face your pain!"_

 _With clenched fists and tightly-pressed lips, Kane forced his eyes open. He watched the scene as it replayed from the beginning._

 _"He betrayed us both," Samuel stated coldly. "There's no shame in showing anger."_

 _Kane seethed, too livid to respond. Samuel wore the very same face as his betrayer. Kane knew it was irrational, but he wanted to jump up and tackle the facsimile to the floor. He wanted to express his frustration through his fists!_

 _Samuel grinned, as if the knight had just read his thoughts. "I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel the same way. He's my brother, after all … but at some point, one has to walk away. We are not mandated by family ties or friendships to forsake our own lives and dreams. Can you honestly say that you'd still stand by him, even after all he did to you?"_

 _"He left me for dead!" Kane mourned. "He can rot in the ground, for all I care."_

 _"That, he did," Samuel acknowledged. "It's only natural for such a deep fondness to turn into rage, once it's been cast aside so recklessly. But, that isn't the full story, is it, Mister Harding? There was more to your friendship than just brotherly affection, wasn't there?"_

 _Kane glared at the knight as the destruction of Ur replayed incessantly on the surface of the pool. Just beyond the anger, a deep and intense dread awaited. "What are you talking about?"_

 _"Your obsession with my brother, of course," Samuel explained. "Don't look so surprised. Remember, I know all about you."_

 _Kane stopped himself from lashing out, remembering the powers of black wizardry that Samuel held over him. It took all his restraint, but he metered his response. "With all due respect, I don't believe you could_ ever _understand my past with Bram."_

 _Samuel's grin returned, and he began pacing along his side of the scrying pool. "You and my brother have been friends ever since you attended the local schoolhouse, correct?"_

 _Kane wondered how the knight could have known. The pit of his stomach twisted with anxiety._

 _"You offered him guidance through his earliest years, but as you aged, your relationship evolved. What started as a mentorship changed into more of a competition."_

 _Kane tensed, his body breaking out in goose-bumps. Somehow, Samuel knew his deepest secrets—the source of all his shame. They were supposed to be buried forever!_

 _"And yet … Bram excelled while you fell behind. He outgrew you as a guardian and chose his own path. Meanwhile, you had no such mentor or provider. You had given everything to Bram, but when it came time for you to need help, you received nothing in return."_

 _Kane had never felt more afraid. His long-forgotten truths would soon be exposed, and he feared having to face them. He wanted to run to the room's corner and cower._

 _Yet Samuel persisted. "As you grew into adulthood, you took on a new goal. Rather than accept your weaknesses, you hoped to prove that you were better than Bram. You, the teacher, wanted to show that you would never be surpassed by the student. So you joined the Templars in the hope of rising to glory. Most of all, you wanted your best friend to see you succeed—just so you could spite him."_

 _Kane groaned. His insides were knots. The pain was unbearable, but he was powerless to stop it. He hated Samuel for knowing the truth, but worst of all he despised the knight for revealing it. His dirty secret would soon be out for all the world to mock! Relentlessly, the knight continued._

 _"However, the Order of Templars didn't worked out as planned, did it? You wanted glory, but all you received was a life of isolation. The Order offered naught but undying devotion to King Richard. And yet … Bram climbed the ranks in a very different way. He achieved the life that you always wanted—a covetous position at the head of the king's elite fleet, a squadron of followers at his beck and call, a manor house in the heart of Angkor's Inner Sanctum—and best of all, a beautiful woman with undying love."_

 _The words for fodder for Kane's anger. As it fed, it broke through the fear, twisting and morphing into something different. The knight's words rang true … more than Kane would have ever imagined._

 _"In summary," Samuel concluded, "you never really wanted a friendship with my brother. Rather, you wanted to mold him into the man you secretly wanted to be but which you lacked the courage to become! By living vicariously through him, you were able to accept your own failure to fully utilize your potential."_

 _Kane's head sank and his muscles went limp. He seemed to melt onto the floor, his flesh fluid like waters of the scrying pool. "Yes …" he admitted. It was true. All true!_

 _"Get back on your feet, Mister Harding," Samuel commanded._

 _Kane's muscles were like milk. He tried moving them, but it was a meaningless effort. The ebbing fury left his body weary and exhausted. He heard a few words of magic, and all of a sudden his muscles obeyed a different master. He was standing before he knew it, held up by invisible strings!_

 _"Stand!" Samuel ordered, now much more forcefully._

 _Kane's tried to take control of his legs, but standing was a struggle. He was now more afraid of the wizard-Gnostic than ever. The knight had exposed his deepest held secrets, and what fearsome weapons they were! Kane knew he would be powerless to stand against them._

 _Instead, Samuel spoke calmly, his words comforting. "You needn't be ashamed, Mister Harding. I forced you to face your fears, knowing they would only make you stronger. No man can reach his full potential if he can't face his inner truth. You've let your fears control you for too long. It's time to finally cast them aside."_

 _Kane stared at the knight, doubtful that it would be that easy._

 _"You still want more out of life, don't you?" Samuel challenged. "Days ago, you were ready to end it, but I've given you a second chance. You have nothing left to hold you back. If you want the power, then take it. It shall be yours."_

 _Kane felt his spirits rise. Perhaps Samuel was right. Perhaps he still had a chance to achieve his dreams. But why did the knight care so much about him. Why did he put forth so much effort, and what did he want in return? Surely, this guidance was not for free!_

 _Again, the Gnostic gazed right through him, as if reading his thoughts. "What if I told you that you were capable of so much more than Bram? What if you were able to achieve things that made Bram's old life look meager by comparison?"_

 _Kane was thrown by the question. "What do you mean?"_

 _Samuel removed something from his waist satchel. It looked like a kind of gemstone. "Do you know what this is, Mister Harding?"_

 _Kane stared at it, enthralled by the yellow glow emanating from its center. He could have sworn he saw something twinkle—something intelligent, filled with untold wisdom, but also the deepest contempt …._

 _"I don't know," he admitted._

 _"Most people call it a sunstone," Samuel explained._

 _Kane shook his head, confused. "You mean like the religious artifacts?"_

 _Samuel smiled. "That's right. For centuries, people mistook them for worthless jewels. Religious fanatics once thought they were a means to commune with the Goddess, Gaia. Far older stories described them as powerful relics … but again, most people discredited these as children's tales. Meanwhile, the sunstones' powers went unutilized for nearly a millennium."_

 _Kane snickered. "And I suppose you're going to tell me that the old stories were right all along?"_

 _"I don't blame you for being skeptical, Mister Harding," Samuel chided, "but if you ever want to find_ true _power, you must look for it where others have not yet scoured."_

 _Kane was held fast by Samuel's words, curious whether the knight might have truly found something useful in those old stones. He had nothing to lose by hearing him out._

 _"Very well," he responded humbly, "tell me about the sunstones."_

 _Samuel grinned. "Hearken back two weeks. Your old friend—my brother—had just returned from a special mission from King Richard."_

 _Kane's ears lit up. This had to be the mission to Minoa—the one that had eventually led to Bram's demotion. He had yearned to learn the details behind it, hoping it would help make sense out of why Bram had gone against King Richard's orders._

 _Samuel continued. "Bram was joined by my cohort, Virgil Garvey. Together, Virgil and I had stumbled upon a way to unlock the sunstones' hidden powers. The Minoan operation was meant to be a test of whether the newly discovered information was true … and of course it was. Virgil brought the sunstone back to Angkor, but not in cooperation with Bram's efforts. Rather, Virgil succeeded in spite of them. My brother undermined his orders at every opportunity, putting rank and seniority ahead of his goal. His arrogance and insubordination brought the mission dangerously close to failure. That's why he was on thin ice with Richard, even before he betrayed us at Ur."_

 _Kane let out a pent-up breath. "So that's what happened. I would have never thought Bram's pride would be his undoing. Was the sunstone's powers at least worth it?"_

 _Samuel grinned, turning the jewel in his hand so that it reflected the light off the scrying pool. "More than you could possibly imagine. The power of the sunstones is immeasurable. With just this small artifact, I've gained the means to hide Angkor's entire fleet of airships from the view of our enemy."_

 _Kane felt a chill as the knight waved his hands once more, changing the view in the scrying pool._

 _"Much has happened since the destruction of Ur, Mister Harding." As Samuel spoke, images formed in the pool consistent with the knight's descriptions._

 _"A week ago, we declared war on Kitezh. Using our aerial advantage, we bombarded their capital and recovered a second sunstone—it's the same one you now see before you. King Richard's goal is to have all four. To that end, we now ride on the Goliath, on our way to conquer Koba."_

 _If not for the images in the pool, Kane would have thought the Gnostic had gone mad. However, he witnessed the destruction of the palace at Rungholt with his own eyes, as well as the veil of invisibility cast over the fleet of airships as they left the hangar at Angkor. He watched it all with starry-eyed wonder._

 _In just a few short weeks, the world had completely changed. And here he stood at the precipice of a new order, with Samuel asking if he wanted to be a part of it._

 _He braved a sensible question. "You already have all this power. What could I possibly offer?"_

 _"Aptly put," Samuel admitted. "What I want … is someone I can trust."_

 _Kane was incredulous. "And you think I'm somehow more capable of loyalty than your other servants?"_

 _"I do," Samuel confirmed without hesitation. "I've seen the faithfulness you were willing to offer to my brother firsthand, and yet he offered you no more than friendship. As for my own men, many have sworn fealty to me, but only because of what I've promised in return. You, on the other hand, are a man whose loyalty can't be bought. Rather, you offer it in exchange for fellowship in commensurate amounts."_

 _Kane crossed his arms. The proposal was absurd! "I don't even know you! You might look like Bram, but you're not the same man."_

 _"You can be sure of that," Samuel confirmed. "However, I am a man of my word, and I would not betray you as has my brother. I am merely offering you a partnership, Mister Harding, not the same unhealthy bond you shared with my brother. Study under me as my apprentice, and we can help each other. Help me to achieve my dream, and I'll make sure you have a share in it."_

 _Kane wondered if he had room in his heart to form a new friendship. Samuel's strange proposal seemed to suggest something beyond the regular quid pro quo of a business proposition. And the knight had already offered so much. His benevolent actions had saved Kane from an embarrassing death, helped him to see his own shortcomings, and now offered him an opportunity to obtain incredible power._

 _"Just one warning," Samuel added. Kane cringed, fearing the catch. "The path at my side is not for the faint of heart. It's risky, dangerous, and I'll expect you to obey without question. But … given what you've gone through, I don't expect the fear of peril to be a problem."_

 _Kane realized he was at a crossroads. His old life was over, but now he had a chance to move forward. Perhaps helping Samuel to achieve his dreams would enable Kane to find his own._

 _"What are your dreams, Samuel?"_

 _The knight smiled. "I'll tell you. But first, allow me to reveal the_ true _secret of the sunstones …."_

 _Kane listened as Samuel explained his end game, awestruck as he realized the height of the knight's ambition. King Richard had truly discovered an opportunity beyond any mortal vision. It was inspiring, and Kane was excited to be a part of it._

 _Samuel went on to describe his battle plan against the Koban capital of Loulan. He expected Bram to undermine the attack by prepping the Kobans beforehand. Fortunately, he had a failsafe plan. Using the sunstone's power, he would fly an invisible Goliath over the city's defenses, while using the other airships as a distraction. They would be minimally manned, except to deploy ground troops to further stall the City Defenders._

 _Samuel offered Kane a choice of whether to stay behind or join him in witnessing his triumph. With the power of the Gemini Stone, the knight expected to have no trouble making his way inside the Koban temple—even if Bram dared to stand against him. For Kane, the choice was simple. Even with a remote chance of facing his betrayer, he wanted to be at Samuel's side. He would not miss the opportunity to duel against Bram and release his pent-up rage and frustration._

 _Indeed, Kane had his chance. Samuel had used the sunstone's power to grant Kane incredible strength and agility. He used these powers to clash against Bram inside the Koban temple, eager to topple his haughty friend and shame him in front of all his new companions._

 _But, when it came right down to it, he could not finish it. He wanted to pummel his friend with good sense … but he could not kill him. He had the opportunity to land the decisive blow, but instead he threw the battle. Samuel must have assumed that Bram had simply outmatched him, and Kane was happy to let the Gnostic believe that. It was better for Samuel to assume he was weak than to suspect him of being untrustworthy._

 _As for Rosa, she was a very different matter. Kane knew how much she meant to Bram. As much as his old friend had hurt him, Kane could not bear to see Samuel destroy her. So he stepped in yet again, pleading with Samuel to let her live._

 _Fortunately, the move worked well in Kane's favor. He later convinced Samuel to use her as a bargaining chip in order to coerce Bram into retrieving the Capricorn Stone, which had been stolen by King Arcesilaus. But, more important than all these things, Rosa represented a tiny link to Bram. Though Kane hated the man that Bram had become, he still felt comforted in knowing he had one last attachment. For whatever reason, he was unwilling to sever this final thread of his old friendship._

 _He knew how foolish and sentimental it would appear to anyone else, but it would only be a temporary fancy. Eventually, Bram would return with the sunstone, and Kane would release Rosa back unharmed. Perhaps in this final exchange, he could walk away from his old friendship without regrets …._

These were his final thoughts as he awoke from a night full of restless dreams and memories. An hour still remained before his morning duties, and there was no point in returning to sleep.

Instead, he obsessed over the notion that he was still hanging on to a part of his past with Bram. In his awakened state, he still oozed with contempt and animosity. But his dreams reminded him that something else still existed—a latent attachment that was small and insignificant compared to all the other emotions.

As he dressed, Kane opened a drawer in his dresser that he rarely touched. It contained a handful of keepsakes that he was able to recover from his quarters inside the Templar barracks before leaving Angkor. Underneath a medal he had won from an old sparring competition and a wooden figurine whittled in his spare time to resemble a ballerina dancer, he withdrew an old photograph.

It was of two boys, playing on the dusty road of an old farming village called Providence. He remembered when Bram had built the old makeshift camera from a cylindrical parcel container with a pin-sized hole to let in light. A neighbor had walked past and offered to take a picture of the two boys. The memory hit hard, straight into the wound in Kane's heart. He took a deep breath, but all that came out were a series of heavy whimpers.

What was happening to him? He could not go to his daily chores in such a broken state of mind. He needed to pull himself together, to remember what Bram had done to him, not to mention his new allegiance with Samuel. He needed to be free from his doubts and forge ahead confidently. If only he had some way of knowing why Bram had been so spiteful. If only he had some answers for why Bram would turn against both his best friend and brother.

He wondered what would happen if he spoke with Rosa directly. It sounded like a silly idea, but the more he thought about it, the more he yearned for some way to satisfy his conscience. He certainly did not expect Samuel to support the idea, but with things so busy aboard the ship, speaking with her now might be a good time. Certainly, his chances would diminish the closer it came to Bram's return.

He knew where to find her. She was being held in a nondescript hallway near the ship's stern, where a makeshift holding cell had been built. Four wizards monitored her from the outside. Two Whites and two Blacks, the combination needed to build an anti-magic field so strong that no other wizard could escape.

The cell was small, barely three spans per direction, consisting of no more than a mattress and a latrine. Kane had formed a plan for how he would approach her. There was a man who provided daily food and hygiene supplies. He was a lower-ranked grunt, the kind whose only use was to clean up after the senior officers. It would be easy for Kane to intimidate him, at which point he could deliver the supplies himself. He waited outside the brig for the man to arrive.

As soon as he did, the man regarded Kane angrily. "What are you doing here?"

"Put down the tray and bucket," Kane ordered, "and leave."

"What are you talking about?" the man persisted. "You're not supposed to be here!"

Kane met the man's challenge with eyes that were as cold as stone. "You know I perform errands for Mister Cortez, do you not? Now, leave the tray and bucket, and _begone!_ "

The soldier backed down, placing the items on the floor before scurrying away.

When the man was gone, Kane bent down to pick them up. As he did, he slipped the photograph of him and Bram underneath the plate containing Rosa's morning meal. If she questioned him about his past with Bram, he would use it to remind her of how close they were. It was all he had to remind him of his past, but it proved how important the friendship had been to him.

The wizards in front of the cell required a security check, but Kane was happy to oblige. He told them the same story about being on an errand from Samuel, and they never questioned it. After being padded and asked to turn in his boot knife, he was granted entry. He entered the cell and closed the door behind him to make it more private. As soon as Rosa saw him, she scrunched up against the wall behind her mattress, looking like a cornered animal.

She did not appear to have been mistreated, but she looked miserable, huddled on her cot with blond hair in tangles and crow's feet around her eyes. She wore a thin white prisoner's garb, just barely enough to cover her smooth delicate features. Kane very slowly placed the tray and bucket on the floor by the entryway, trying not to seem too threatening. She looked as if she had been recently crying. Part of him sympathized with her, but the way she looked at him made him feel dirty.

She stared without blinking, her dark eyes penetrating. "What are you going to do to me?"

"I'm not here to hurt you," he said, feeling insulted. "If you behave yourself, there's no reason you won't get to see Bram again."

She closed her eyes and let out a gentle breath. Kane's words seemed to have a comforting effect on her. "Then he lives."

Kane was taken aback. "Of course he does. You think we'd have kept you here otherwise?"

Rosa blinked, looking sly and calculating. "Then that means you're using me for leverage, somehow. Tell me … what are you making him do?"

Kane frowned, already feeling like it was a bad idea to be there. "I didn't come here to answer your questions."

Rosa's lips tightened. "Then why did you? What do you want?"

Kane felt he was getting nowhere. Why did he ever think it wise to speak with this prisoner and expect anything other than hostility in return? He was such a fool!

"Nothing," he insisted. "I made a mistake."

He turned toward the door, but that did not stop Rosa from lashing out. "You're a monster, Kane Harding! You treated him like he was _nothing!_ You threw away years of friendship in return for Samuel's false promises!"

Kane spun around, baring teeth. "Don't you _dare_ judge me, woman! I don't know what Bram might have told you, but _he_ turned on _me_ that day!"

Rosa stared at him, her eyes containing fire. "Believe what you want. Just know this: you were like a brother to him. When he lost you, it broke his heart."

Kane ground his teeth, cursing her manipulative wiles. "Don't toy with me! Bram knew exactly what he was doing when he faced me that day! There's no longer any friendly blood between us, and he can rot in the ground for all I care!"

The white wizardress stood in front of her mattress defiantly. "You're a liar! You still care for him. Otherwise, you wouldn't be here!"

Kane chuckled, realizing what she was doing. By telling him lies, she wanted to convince him that Bram was still his friend. Next, she might try telling him that Samuel was the enemy, and that Kane needed to change sides! He had no time for her nonsense and was greatly disappointed that he would need to leave without answers. He opened the door to the cell.

"No, wait!" she called.

"I have nothing to say to you," he told her coldly.

"Kane …" she reached out to grab him, but he shrugged her off. He stormed out of the cell and retrieved his knife from the guardian wizards. His head was in the clouds as he raged through the metal corridors of the Zounds airship, on the way back to his own chambers.

He hardly noticed when he rounded a corner and nearly walked right into Samuel Cortez. Kane's chest constricted, wondering if the knight knew where he had been. Samuel was not wearing his Gnostic helm, and for a moment it seemed like Kane had just run into Bram himself.

The knight glared accusingly. "I heard you went to visit the prisoner, Apprentice. Is that true?"

Kane could not lie. Somehow, Samuel already knew. He tried to calm his nerves. "Yes, my Lord."

"Why?" the Gnostic demanded. "I did not ask this of you."

Kane bowed his head contritely. "Forgive me for overstepping, Master. I just wanted to check that she was unharmed."

Samuel crossed his arms, looking displeased. "Whatever made you question this, Apprentice?"

Kane met the knight's gaze. He could not flinch or hesitate, or else Samuel would instantly distrust him.

"I know how valuable she is to us, my Lord. And yet, we have men on this craft who've left their wives and lovers to join us. Any one of them could force themselves upon her. I needed to know that she was still safe. We can't risk Bram deciding not to return with the sunstone."

Samuel softened his gaze, but only slightly. "No harm will come of her, I assure you. But I'll only say this once. She's a powerful and cunning wizardress. The less contact she has with others on this ship, the better. If not for the leverage she's worth, she'd be too dangerous to keep here."

Kane agreed. He was anxious to get rid of her. He had given Bram a week to retrieve the Capricorn Stone, but he almost hoped Bram would return early. "Have you heard any updates on his progress?"

Samuel sighed. "Patience, Apprentice. His ship landed in Vineta only a couple of days ago. Since then, he's already spoken with the Circle of Eight and is well on his way to the Elfen capital. You were right about his resolve. He'll do whatever it takes, as long as he believes we'll return Miss Reynolds to him."

Kane was relieved. "Good. Then it's only a matter of days before we release her and no longer need to worry."

"Not so fast," Samuel chided. "I've already explained how dangerous she is. We can't have someone like her knowing about our base of operations."

Kane's spine tingled. "What do you mean?"

Samuel looked upon Kane with icy blue eyes. "Quite simple. As soon as my brother has the Capricorn Stone in hand and we set up the exchange, I'll need you to dispose of her."

Kane froze, his breath constricted. "You mean _kill_ her?"

Samuel frowned. "Is that a problem, Apprentice?"

Kane took a step back as visions from his forgotten nightmares flooded over him. His head filled with images of blood-soaked hands and crimson-spattered walls. He could feel the warmth of the liquid dripping from the wound around her neck—the one he had made with a swipe from his knife. He felt himself breaking into a cold sweat.

"You look pale, Apprentice," Samuel observed. "Shall I find another of my crew to accomplish this task?"

Kane looked up at his patron. Somehow, the question felt more like a threat than an attempt at being helpful. Kane tried to swallow past the knot in his throat. "No, my Lord. It should be _my_ honor."

"Good," Samuel replied succinctly before heading in the opposite direction.

Kane sagged against the nearest cold aluminum wall. He was glad that nobody else was there to see him. He made his way to the head, where he splashed cold water on his face. Inside the mirror, he saw a ghoulish man with bloodshot eyes and a pale complexion. There was no longer any doubt where his loyalties laid. Samuel's dreams were his dreams. He would perform as his master demanded, and find a way to live with himself later.

He splashed on some more water before leaving to attend to his other duties. He only hoped he could find a way to be free of his nightmares—for one night, at least.


	8. Chapter 8, Part VII

**.**

* * *

 **Part VII**

 _Morning of Denuo, Thirty-First Day of Autumnmoon_

* * *

Cedric marched across the desolate white terrain of the north Vinetan woodlands. It was serene in a way—beautiful in its sparseness—but eerily bereft of animal life. Other than the mammoth-sized trunks of ancient conifers, the region was barren and undisturbed. Neither the wolf's howl nor the hawk's cry broke through the sinister silence.

The tall evergreens created a thick canopy that dampened the harsh winter winds and snow, leaving only a light dusting of flakes that drifted delicately to the forest floor. There were no sounds except for the crunch of Cedric's boots and the huff of his warm dewy breath, which he kept slow and deliberate to avoid overexerting himself.

His attention was momentarily captured by the sight of a lone hare emerging from beneath some fallen branches. In the blink of an eye, it disappeared inside a nearby borrow. The creature one of the few living things Cedric had seen after several hours of hiking—besides of course his silent and stoic companion.

Bram's mood had darkened capriciously since earlier that morning. He appeared distant, lost in his own thoughts. Cedric would have enjoyed a stimulating discussion on strategy and next steps—such as contemplating a way to penetrate King Arcesilaus' defenses—but unfortunately, the knight did not seem interested.

Matthias, on the other hand, had volunteered to scout ahead for spawn. Isaac had warned that powerful creatures would be drawn to the area due to the natural magic surrounding the dragon's grove. While the gray wizard searched for these threats, Cedric and Bram continued on foot, left with nothing but the lonely sounds of their boots.

Bram's silver Grigori armor looked striking against the ghostly white backdrop of the forest. According to the knight, its enchantments supposedly kept him warm without additional winter wear. Meanwhile, Cedric trudged through the ankle-deep snow wrapped head to toe in heavy fleece. He pulled his coat collar closer, locked in a constant battle against the biting wind. The cold had finally started to penetrate his boots, and he was eager to get through the forests and back to solid ground.

He reached for the silver warhammer strapped to his waist—another gift from the clerics, not to mention an important piece of equipment when tromping through spawn-infested woods. It made him feel a little bit safer. Comfortable, too, like one of his old tools. The silver plating gave it just the right weight and balance, and some alchemists believed that the metal carried properties that made it more effective against spawn.

Long ago, Cedric had trained in the use of martial weapons and almost enlisted in the military. His younger self had an appetite for fighting and adventure, but he gave up on these when his father became ill. He ended up taking over his father's business, and like many men on their journey to adulthood, maturity and practicality finally took precedence over danger and excitement.

Cedric's youthful feelings of invulnerability were replaced by a desire for comfort and stability. He supposed it was why King Richard had so easily tricked him into continuing his design for the Zounds airship, even after all he had witnessed. So many signs had pointed to threats coming from within his own kingdom, but he had still put his faith in his liege.

It seemed like almost yesterday when he was reading a good book, sitting on his comfortable recliner while drinking a glass of vintage brandy and being served by his faithful butler. But now, his beautiful manor house was buried inside a giant sinkhole created by the collapse of the Substratum.

For the first time since he was a boy, he was homeless—and not just in the physical sense. His entire country had transformed into someplace hostile and foreign. The very people he had once trusted ended up betraying him, and the many familiar faces he had greeted on the way to his workshop each morning might have been killed in the attack. He thought back to fond acquaintances such as Mason Eckerd, perhaps the closest thing to what Cedric would have called a friend. They were all dead, too.

Mad King Richard had unleashed an unspeakable evil upon his land, and it would no doubt have a lasting impact. The home that Cedric loved—the place where he had lived his entire life—was now gone, and things would never be the same. Like it or not, there was nowhere left to march but forward.

Of course, traveling with Bram and Matthias had given Cedric a new purpose. He liked the idea of banding with a group of heroes whose job was to make sure that other parts of Gaia would not share in the same fate as Angkor. He wanted to be there when it came time to save Rosa and confront the villains responsible for disturbing the sunstones.

But, alongside a Master of Magic and Champion of the Sword, one former Grand Craftsman seemed to be of little use. He felt inadequate … inexperienced … an oaf who would probably just get in the way. If it came down to a dangerous situation, or an encounter with the Ahrimen, he would need to step aside and leave the actual fighting to the experts.

Admitting to this beforehand felt degrading … cowardly, too. On one hand, it seemed like plainly sound judgment to avoid any unnecessary risks. He had no need to stroke his ego by putting himself in danger. But, still … it certainly did not feel heroic. Not to mention that the Grigori Knight and gray wizard had their own problems, making it unclear whether they were fit to save the world by themselves.

The previous night, Cedric overheard a conversation between the two. It was more of an argument, really, with each side accusing the other of conflicting interests. Matthias had claimed that if tempted to choose between Rosa's safety and the fate of the world, Bram could not be trusted to make the right choice. Cedric shuddered at the thought of being in that position. Rosa was just too important! Then again, so was the world. Meanwhile, Bram pointed out that Matthias would be similarly tempted to seek vengeance on Virgil and Samuel, rather than focus his powers on stopping the Ahrimen.

Cedric sighed. He did not know Matthias all that well, but the old man seemed genuine and trustworthy. Even so, he had lost his only daughter as a direct result of Virgil's and Samuel's schemes. There was no telling what he would do if faced with a tough choice.

Looking back, Cedric remembered his own temptation to sabotage the Zounds airship. When he was locked behind the cold iron bars of Angkor's dungeon, disrespected and treated like an animal, he was desperate to unleash his fury upon his enemies. Even after weighing the consequences of a monstrosity like Zounds crashing down upon a town or village, it was still difficult to prioritize people's lives over the joy he expected to feel at sealing Virgil's demise.

Unfortunately, the argument between Bram and Matthias was never fully resolved. Bram was the only man in the world capable of facing off against the Ahrimen. He was a Grigori Knight, and whether Matthias liked it or not, Bram had subsumed the role of leader. Although, it was a position Cedric would not have wished upon his worst enemy. Not only was Bram responsible for saving the world from the evil of the Ahrimen, but he also had his own demons to confront.

Not long ago, Bram wore the dark armor of a Gnostic Knight—the awe-inspiring protectors of any man or woman living inside Angkor. But, to the rest of the world, they were the scourge of humanity. Cedric wondered how it was possible for a man to simply cast off such a large part of his life and start over as a completely different person. It seemed unlikely that Bram could just turn off the fury boiling deep within his heart, only to replace it with valor and peace. Not to mention Rosa.

Cedric's heart ached every time he thought of the beautiful white wizardress. He still cared for her, and it was a constant battle to put his worries at ease. Even so, it was clear by now that Rosa had given her love to Bram, and vice-versa. Her capture must have been excruciatingly hard for the poor knight, but for Cedric it was torture.

He remembered how poorly he had been treated under Virgil Garvey's watch, and he dared not even ponder what Rosa might have to endure. He hoped to Gaia that she would not be hurt, or left thirsty and malnourished as Cedric had been in his own cell. The craftsman shook his head, knowing there was little he could do about it. Fortunately, Bram would not rest until she was freed—and from that, he drew a touch of comfort.

He looked over at the knight, whose mood had slowly transformed over the course of the day into something brooding and menacing. His face was drawn and pouty, his breathing hard, nostrils flaring, brows furrowed ….

Quite unexpectedly, he faced Cedric with eyes so wild that it gave the craftsman a start.

"Cedric!" The word was almost a hiss.

The craftsman jumped.

"Would you mind if I asked you something?"

Cedric stopped his march, trying to remain calm. The voice was hardly Bram's at all! It was as if someone else were speaking through his body. Cedric wondered what on Gaia had gotten into the knight.

"Of course, Bram … we have all the time in the world out here. So what would you like to discuss?"

"It's about Rosa." Flat and foreboding.

Cedric cleared his throat and swallowed to moisten it. Why did Bram suddenly bring her up? Had he perhaps been thinking of her the whole time? Was that why he had been so silent and ruminating?

Cedric put on a cheerful face. Fake, but hopefully perceived as empathetic. "Aye … poor lass. You can rest assured we'll find her, though. I'm sure she's well, or else the enemy would be without a means to barter—right?"

Bram turned his head. His eyes looked dead inside.

"That's true …."

Cedric tried to throw in another piece of encouragement. Hopefully, it would assuage the knight's angst. "Don't worry. You have my full support, don't forget. And Matthias, too, I'm sure!"

Again, unnervingly, the knight gazed right at Cedric. His eyes were piercing, as if insulted by the good-natured attempt at motivation. Saying nothing, he resumed his march, acting as if the conversation had never happened.

Cedric felt spooked. Something was wrong, but he was too afraid to probe. He thought about how he would even dare to broach such a topic when the knight posed another question.

"Cedric … how long did you say you've known Rosa?"

The craftsman was caught off guard. The question seemed to suggest something improper. But surely Bram did not suspect such a thing! Cedric might have had feelings for the knight's lost love, but their relationship had always been strictly chaste. Still … no other woman had captured his thoughts and attention quite like her … making Cedric wonder if Bram had somehow picked up on it. He tried to respond without stumbling.

"Going on a couple of years, now. We met at the Unification Day Centennial Celebration, if you'll recall me saying so."

This time, Bram did not hesitate. "Seems like long enough to develop a close relationship, wouldn't you say?"

The questions grew bolder. Cedric would be a fool not to suspect where they were leading, but he forced himself to think through each response. He certainly did not want to fall into the trap of confirming the knight's worst suspicions. Even so, he was unsure whether to play coy or just come right out with the truth.

"Yes, we have a profound respect for one another, if that's what you mean."

Bram chuckled, as if finding humor in the response. "Right … you see, I've been bothered by something. Rosa told me about how you discovered her in the Archives that day. Most men would have turned her in to the authorities. She was trespassing illegally, and you were one of Richard's closest servants. You were obligated to report it, and yet you didn't. Why?"

Cedric stopped in his tracks. He could have tried to keep talking his way out of it, but Bram had him trapped. Or did he? Cedric refused to believe that. He was no longer a prisoner to anyone. It was time to put an end to this charade.

"It's like I told you. I have too much respect for her. Now, why don't you tell me what this is really all about?"

Bram's frown returned, and his teeth parted in a snarl. "I need you to be truthful to me, Cedric! Did you really help her out of trust, or was there something else between you?"

The moment of truth. The knight could not have stated it more clearly. And yet, even in the absence of an actual affair, Cedric could not flat out deny it or else Bram would suspect a lie ….

No! The craftsman was _not_ afraid or intimidated. He would not play dumb, nor would he overanalyze the situation. The truth gave him courage, and so he faced the knight boldly.

"I won't deny that Rosa and I had a close friendship. More than you know, in fact. But in the end, it never went beyond that."

Bram opened his mouth, but shut it quickly. Instead, he uttered an anxious sigh and restarted his march.

"So you say …."

Cedric feared the knight would remain unconvinced. He could not blame him. Bram loved Rosa, and with her life hanging in the balance, it was only natural for him to question her love in return, as well as her faithfulness while they were apart.

Cedric figured that in Bram's eyes, he was "the other man". It hardly mattered how far their desires went, because now Bram suspected the worst. Even so, it would be best if Cedric kept silent and allowed the knight to discover the truth for himself. Cedric had faith in the truth, though he knew it occasionally took time to become fully apparent.

So he let Bram stew in his own silence as the two men marched through the icy forest. Cedric did not mind the solitude. He had lived most of his life by himself, and in fact preferred a certain amount of uninterrupted meditation. However, as the hours passed, he began to worry about Matthias. The gray wizard had been gone a long time.

He turned to his mercurial companion, hoping to impress enough urgency to penetrate the knight's toxic mood. "Bram … I'm starting to worry about Matthias. Our issues aside, don't you think we ought to look for him?"

The knight stopped dead in his tracks. Cedric cringed, fearing more misplaced wrath. Instead, Bram let out a deep and remorseful sigh.

"I'm sorry, Cedric. Whatever happened between you and Rosa … it's in the past. I wasn't always there for her when she needed me—"

"Bram, stop." Cedric had had enough. He sensed the knight would not cease until his worries were laid to rest, and it was important for a leader to think clearly. Even if that leader had to buy into his own misconception ….

"I have no intention of ever coming between you two again." Intellectually, Cedric felt his statement to be dishonest. But hopefully it would placate his friend's fears. "Whatever happened between Rosa and me is over. You have my word."

It pained the craftsman to say it, but sure enough, the knight's angst faded. For a moment, his face seemed to teeter between sadness and relief, but he soon pulled himself out of his funk. With a renewed tone, Bram started on a different topic.

"Speaking of Matthias, I think you're right. He should have been back by now."

Cedric was glad to see his friend back to his usual demeanor. He wondered how the knight managed to turn off his emotions like the hood of a lantern. Of course, he already knew the answer. Emotions could not be turned off … only buried.

The knight continued. "If he weren't using his magic, I'd be able to track him. But at this point, I have nowhere to start."

"What about your Grigori powers?" Cedric suggested. "If we had just a small fraction of that, I'm sure we'd find him!"

Bram sighed. "I wish it were that simple. My … _powers_ … are not something I can use reliably. Sometimes I try to summon them and get nothing. Other times, I get something entirely unexpected."

"But they worked just fine," Cedric protested. "I saw how they helped us escape from Angkor."

Bram shook his head. "I had no choice but to use them … and I think we were lucky they worked at all. They're mysterious, and unpredictable. And I'm worried I might lose control and hurt someone. Besides … we wouldn't have made it out of Angkor without the sunstone, and I certainly don't want to rely on _that_ anymore."

"But why not?" Cedric argued. He could not think of an easier way to find Matthias. "You used the sunstone to heal my legs—and now look at me! I've been walking without a problem ever since. You went through so much trouble to get it. Why hesitate now?"

Bram looked at him sharply, mouth open and ready to speak when he seemed to change his mind at the last moment. Instead, he let out a heavy sigh. "You don't understand, Cedric. And I'm partly to blame. Since you've joined us, I just haven't had the time to reveal everything about the sunstones."

Cedric's eyes went wide at the indignity of it all. No time? The knight must think he was a simpleton to buy into such an excuse. "We've been marching for hours, Bram! Just you and me in this desolate winter wasteland."

"Cedric—"

"No, you listen to me." Cedric felt he needed to put his foot down. If not now, then he would be doomed to fade into irrelevance within the group. He crossed his arms firmly.

"We're a team, now, Bram. That means we don't let each other go uninformed. Whenever you learn something important, it's vital that you share it right away. Otherwise, there's no way we're going to make it through this quest!"

"Cedric—"

The craftsman was not finished. "I may not have a mastery of magic or carry any kind of special powers, but that doesn't give you the right to keep me in the dark. I _can_ be useful. You just need to give me a—"

"Cedric!"

The craftsman paused in mid-sentence, realizing he may have oversold his argument. Perhaps it was time to let the knight respond.

Bram lowered his head, looking repentant. "You're right. You deserve to know everything, including the ugly truth about the sunstones."

Bram explained about the influence of the Ahrimen, and how using the sunstones' powers made a man susceptible to the Ahrimen's corruption. The snow accumulated underfoot as he walked and talked, making the frigid trek through the empty forests that much more unbearable.

Even so, the icy temperatures were not responsible for the hair-raising sensation that crept up Cedric's spine. Bram's revelation changed everything! "I knew that Richard had been taken over by one of those monsters, but I figured it was because he had traded his soul in exchange for his power. I didn't realize that simply handling the sunstone put a person at risk!"

Cedric started feeling hot all over. His fleece hood had suddenly become stifling, and he hastily removed it from his head. "Does that mean … does it mean that what happened to Richard … could also happen to you?"

Bram stared down at his belt pouch carrying the sunstone. "I think it's possible, yes."

Cedric had to forcefully close his wide open jaw. "Then why did you ever use it in the first place? Why risk it, even once?"

Bram tried to explain. "I had hoped my Minoan bloodline would make me more resistant. The first time I used the sunstone to heal your legs, and again when I used it to fly the _Heron_ through the blockage at the end of the Substratum, there weren't any side effects. I felt nothing. But then I used it a third time to restore Géorg's arm. When I finished healing him, I felt a little light-headed and passed out. I didn't think much of it at the time. I thought maybe I had simply pushed myself too hard, like when a wizard casts too much magic. But ever since that moment, I've never felt the same. My mood has been cloudy. I've been more irritable, more … anxious. It might just be the stress, but I can't help but worry that the taint of the Ahriman might have had something to do with it."

Cedric could not get the thought out of his head. Bram was supposed to be their champion—the only one impervious to the Ahrimen's evil. Cedric expected Bram to use his immunities to vanquish these creatures. Yet, here he was, claiming to have no such protections!

Cedric imagined the Ahriman corrupting the Savior of the world and emerging through his body. The thought was absolutely horrifying—unthinkable, even! If this was humanity's best hope, then what was the human race to do? Cedric felt himself breaking into a cold sweat. He was suffocating. Damn this hot fleece!

"Cedric, snap out of it."

Bram gave the craftsman a shove on the shoulder, which awakened him from the terrors he had conjured in his head. The smirk on the knight's face seemed to suggest hope. Inane, fatuous hope!

"Come, now," he insisted. "This is why I didn't have the heart to tell you."

Cedric was blustering. "Well, now that I know, we have to discuss this! Do you really think we have what it takes to protect the sunstones on our own? We're about to march into Garda to confront Arcesilaus, and he has us outmatched in every possible way! His anti-field thingy nullifies Matthias' magic, you're hesitant to use yours, and now we have to worry about the Ahrimen corrupting you through the sunstone!"

"Cedric, relax." For some reason, Bram did not seem nearly as concerned. "I told you already that I don't plan to ever use the sunstone again. We won't have to worry about that happening."

Cedric felt his frustration rise. "Don't you remember our conversation five minutes ago? How you snapped at me?"

"I already said I was sorry. And I shouldn't need to tell you how much Rosa means to me."

"That's just the thing," Cedric insisted. "I've never had a romance with her before."

Bram's eyes went wide. "But you said—"

"I only said that to humor you, to pacify your angst. Your manners and body language … they were almost frightening! I've seen my fair share of jealous husbands before—all wrong about me, by the way—but out here, alone, with you looking like you'd lost your mind …."

Bram lowered his head. "I'm sorry, Cedric … truly, I am. I wasn't myself. I felt so … so angry! And I feel foolish about it. But the sunstone … it hasn't left my belt pouch."

Cedric felt some amount of comfort from Bram's atonement, but he grew even more worried about the implications. "What if the sunstone is affecting your emotions, even without touching it directly? Would you even know the difference?"

"Let me see …."

Bram closed his eyes, looking as if he were carefully considering Cedric's question. His facial expression shifted rapidly. First curiosity, followed by cautiousness, concern, and finally, pure horror.

"Bram, what is it?"

The knight opened his eyes. "I tried thinking about the sunstone. I had a way of sensing things back in the Substratum, and I wanted to see if it would work again. As soon as I tried, I felt a sort of link. Even without touching it, I can feel the rage of the Ahriman inside. Abaddon radiates with hatred. It would do _anything_ to free itself from the sunstone. I'm the man who put the beast inside. It wants to emerge through me!"

Cedric felt a cold chill, icier than the frigid winter air. He quickly replaced his fleecy hood. "That's why you can _never_ use the sunstone again … even as a last resort."

Bram nodded. "I know. As soon as we get the Capricorn Stone, we'll get rid of them both. They belong in the hands of the sunstone protectors."

Cedric extended his arm and rested it on Bram's shoulder. A sign of solidarity. "We'll get through it together. In the meantime, I'd encourage you to use your powers. You need to be able to control them."

Bram looked confused. "Wh—what?"

"Your Grigori powers are your best defense," Cedric counseled. "The Ahrimen fear them. You can't avoid using them just because you haven't learned how to use them properly. Just look at me. I built airship engines through scores of trial and error. If I hadn't given up my fear of failure, I would have never invented air flight."

Bram looked like he was considering it, emboldening Cedric to offer additional words of encouragement. Just a tiny push in the right direction.

"You might be well justified in fearing the effects of your powers, should they go haywire and produce something you didn't intend. However, as long as you go in slow and metered and you pay attention to what you're doing, I think it's worth the risk. Besides, we still need to find Matthias, and as far as I can tell, your powers are our best hope."

Bram looked as if he felt a resurgence of confidence. "You're right, Cedric. I'll give it try."

The craftsman stopped just short of clasping his hands together. He was pleased to be a positive influence for Bram. Even more, he was overjoyed that he had found his place on the team. It made him feel that, perhaps, Bram and Matthias might need him after all.

"Stand back," the knight warned. "I'm going to try something new. I just want to make sure you're not in the direct vicinity … in case anything goes wrong."

Cedric gave the knight plenty of room. "Yes, of course. Good idea."

Bram slowly knelt upon the fresh white snow, while Cedric smiled in anticipation. He did not know what might come of the knight's Grigori magic, but he was excited to find out. After taking a few deep breaths, Bram closed his eyes and his lips started moving.

At first, it was a form of chanting. Not quite words of magic. More like a silent prayer. Then, he spoke in a crisp voice.

"I see … a clearing."

He pressed his lips tightly in concentration, his face scrunched. Eyes were closed, but he moved his head, as if seeing a vision. Cedric watched with excitement, wishing he could see it, too.

"Matthias is … high above the trees. He appears … _trapped!_ "

As Bram said this, Cedric witnessed an incredible transformation. The trees shifted in size and position, and the snow receded to reveal a mossy woodland flora. Meanwhile, the contours of the ground rose and fell to form a brand new landscape.

Cedric did not want to break the knight's concentration, but he felt the need to run over and get his friend's attention.

"Bram … _look!_ " The craftsman pointed high above, at the boughs of a tree in the distance.

The knight shook himself from his trance. "What is it? What happened?"

Cedric grabbed him by the arm and helped him to his feet. "It's the forest! It changed due to your magic. Just like you said, Matthias is up there—in those trees. Look!"

He pointed again to the top of a large spruce, where the gray wizard's body dangled between spindly branches. He was still, unmoving, making Cedric quite nervous.

"How on Gaia did he get up there?" Bram wondered. "I hope he's not hurt."

As the craftsman squinted, he saw a set of vines grow out of the tree and wrap themselves around the old man's body.

"That's odd," he commented. "I've never heard of vines like this growing in—"

Something brushed against his legs. Looking down, he saw a set of roots that had unearthed themselves and were slowly coiling around his and Bram's boots.

" _Gigants!_ " Bram shouted, referring to a rare class of spawn that resembled large trees. Fortunately, the knight had his Grigori sword in his hand and was quickly whacking at the wooden limbs that already had Cedric in a vice-grip. The enchanted blade cut cleanly through the appendages, allowing Cedric to free himself.

But the spawn were undeterred. In an instant, another set of roots came out of the ground and slithered toward the two men, faster than before. And the trees themselves started to move.

Cedric rolled to the side, narrowly missing a thick branch as it slammed into the spot where he had just stood. Now the trees were attacking! Another branch followed quickly, and he did not have the agility to avoid it. Instead, he grabbed hold as it lifted him straight off the ground. The sudden acceleration brought his stomach into his throat, but he held on tightly as it took him all the way to the treetops. His body tensed, arms and legs wrapped tightly around his only lifeline. He would not— _dared not_ —let go!

The gigant whipped its branches frantically. The rapid movement was too much for Cedric and he knew he could not hold on much longer. He was deathly afraid but allowed his instincts to take over. If he timed it right, the branch's momentum might be strong enough to fling him in the air toward Matthias. If he could reach the gray wizard, he might be able to free him from his restraints and use some of the wizard's magic to even the odds.

After saying a silent prayer—to Gaia, or the Zohar, or whomever was listening—the craftsman used a quick calculation to judge distance and trajectory. At just the right moment, he let go and allowed his body to hurdle through the air. His breath was gone. His head full of air, mind dazed, body disoriented. He reached out and grabbed ahold of the nearest object—thankfully, a set of vines just a short climb from Matthias. He dared not look down.

His muscles strained to pull himself up against the mighty weight of his warhammer and winter clothing. Bolstered by his own adrenaline, he overcame the challenge and clawed his way to the wizard's side. The old man was conscious, but the vines were wrapped tightly around the wizard's arms, legs, and mouth. Without the ability to move or speak, Matthias had no way to summon his magic.

Cedric tried pulling at the vines to no avail. They were thick and securely fastened. He then noticed that Matthias was trying to mumble something through a mouthful of twigs.

Cedric tried to parse the garbled words, suspecting it was probably something important. He caught something that sounded like thilfer … _silver!_ Cedric unclasped his warhammer and brought it before the old wizard's fingers. As soon as Matthias touched the shiny surface, he uttered a few magical syllables that apparently did not require the full range of lip movement.

"Hole ong height," he warned.

In a matter of seconds, the vines holding both men turned ashen and brittle like dried twigs. Without the strength to support two grown men, the vines snapped, sending Cedric and Matthias hurdling to the ground. The craftsman screamed, hollering as the forest floor rushed toward him.

Just before impact, he felt a jerk of momentum. He looked around to find that he was floating a span or two above the forest floor. Matthias had thankfully freed himself in midair and cast the necessary spells to halt their descent. Cedric's entire body was shaken, sending his balance off kilter. He tried planting both feet on the ground while he waited for the world to stop spinning.

Happily—joyously—he had made it down alive. Unfortunately, there was no time to celebrate. The gigants were not willing to give up on their prey, and Cedric soon discovered that he and Matthias were surrounded by thick impassable trunks. Their roots twisted along the ground, threatening to entwine both men in another cage of wood.

This time, however, the gray wizard was prepared to fight back. He pulled Cedric close and summoned a wall of fire from his fingertips. Fearing the blaze, the gigants stepped back. It seemed that as long as Matthias held the flames in place, the spawn refused to cross.

Now that Cedric had his balance and wits restored to him, he scanned the area in search of Bram. He caught sight of the knight lying motionless nearby.

"Matthias! Over here, look!"

"Help him to his feet," the gray wizard commanded, still holding his hands and the wall of flame steady. "Drag him if you have to!"

Cedric grabbed Bram by the arm and tried to pull him up. Along the way, an object slipped out of the knight's hands. It was the sunstone! As soon as it touched the ground, Bram awoke, albeit a bit groggy.

Cedric cringed, wondering why Bram would dare to take that thing out of his belt pouch. Surely it was monumentally foolish to even touch the blasted artifact!

"What happened?" he demanded from the knight.

In one fell swoop, Bram snatched the object and stashed it back into his satchel as if nothing had happened. "Cedric, quiet. Not now."

Cedric could not believe his ears. Matthias might have been distracted by the gigants, but the craftsman sure as heck knew what he saw. And there was no better time than now to discuss it!

Then again, it was clear that Matthias' strength was waning. Much longer, and the strain from his own magic would cause him to falter, and then everyone would all be at the mercy of the spawn. Cedric wanted to grill the knight for answers, but it was clear he had to put his eagerness aside.

"We need to get out of here!" he told Bram instead. "Matthias is keeping the gigants at bay with his magic, but he won't last much longer."

Bram acknowledged the danger quickly, taking the lead as all three men ran deeper into the forest. The tree-like creatures kept pace, but Matthias slowed them down with a series of fireballs. No one held back their retreat until the gigants were well out of sight.

When it was clear he was safe, Cedric finally stopped to catch his breath.

"You two stay here," Matthias proposed between heavy breaths. "I'll go back and cast some charms so the spawn can't follow us." With that, the wizard disappeared.

Cedric was sweaty and flushed, clearly out of shape. The sprint had been taxing enough to take his breath away. He gasped for air while trying to calm his racing heart.

"You're going to tell me … right now … what that all about," he wheezed in Bram's direction. "I'm talking about the sunstone! Are you mad?"

The knight shook his head. "I never intended to use it. It all happened so fast. My hand must have reached for it without thinking."

Cedric was aghast. "What are you saying? That your hand had a mind of its own?"

Bram remained silent, his face drained of color.

Cedric stopped to think. Nothing was more frightening than carrying around the prison of one of the greatest monsters the world had ever known … except the notion that this monster had the ability to reach out and force a person to use its evil powers.

"Please, Cedric," Bram begged. "I know it looks bad, but Matthias will be back any moment, and I need you to keep this between us."

Cedric wanted to squeal in protest. Such a monumental issue should not be avoided! Nor should it be excluded from another member of the team. But Bram just stared at him, his eyes pleading. The craftsman knew that trust went both ways. He was even willing to build it on the knight's own terms … but why in the Burning Pits did Bram have to ask for a favor so huge!

"Fine! Let's just agree to keep the sunstone in its pouch for now," the craftsman suggested. "Soon enough, this will all be over and we'll have the sunstones back in their proper places."

Cedric took a step forward. Now was his chance to state some of his own demands. He got his index finger ready. "In the meantime, I want to be the first person you come to the next time this happens. I understand if you feel the need to buffer the drama from a certain short-tempered sage, but I'll be damned if you keep it from me!"

Bram nodded, but said nothing.

Moments later, the gray wizard reappeared out of thin air. "That ought to do it," he declared. "I've mired our trail so the gigants can't follow us. What's going on here?"

The old wizard must have noticed Bram's castigated expression, but the knight quickly changed it.

"Thank you, Matthias. Hopefully, we're not that far off track from the dragon's grove. If possible, I'd like to make it there before dark."

"Right …" Matthias responded hesitantly. "We shouldn't be far from our initial course. If we head north-east, we'll soon be back on the trail that Isaac gave us."

Bram started forward, and the three men headed deeper into the forest. Cedric looked over at the knight, noting the creases of worry stretching across his face. Matthias must have noticed, too. He looked as if he knew precisely what had happened. The wizard was not stupid.

Cedric sighed. He decided to honor his promise and remain neutral. Both men were full of doubts and worries, but they kept them well-hidden. That was never a good sign. Cedric could only hope that the pent-up stress would not be unleashed at the wrong time.


	9. Chapter 8, Part VIII

**.**

* * *

 **Part VIII**

 _Evening of Denuo, Thirty-First Day of Autumnmoon_

* * *

Géorg Töller took a deep whiff of Kitezhian air. He let it out knowing that he had made it back safe, and that he had accomplished something incredible. The success of the mission gave the whole crew an empowering sense of fulfillment. Spirits ran high, though many of the men seemed eager to return to their families.

Géorg had no living kin. However, he had begun to think of Rungholt as his home. He had already become good friends with Konrad, made new connections with the noble ladies of White and Black, and now served under a trusted and well-respected king, whose clever risk-taking had enabled Géorg's very successful mission.

Just a moon-cycle ago, the humble Saladin herbalist would have never thought he could come so far. He had been nothing more than a humble shopkeeper on the hunt for adventure. But now, a whole new chapter of his life was about to begin. It was more than he could have hoped to achieve, even if the past had been different and he never lost his arm during the War. Had an alternate Géorg continued on as a soldier in Henrich Brandt's army, such a man would not have ended up in the same position.

Géorg had just captained his own airship. Of course, the title was just temporary. He had no idea how long it would stick, now that King Unruh was no longer obligated to meet the Clan Lord Samir's demands. Then again, with Angkor now wounded and poised to retaliate, he hoped his liege would consider keeping him in his new role. Even if not, the battle had enabled him to accomplish a lifelong dream of leading his own troops to victory—a dream he thought had been long dead.

He thought about his right arm. Even though Lady Black had prophesized its return, it was still something that had been impossible for him to imagine previously. But now, thanks to Sir Morrison and the sunstone, there was no longer anything holding him back from achieving the things he always wanted. Glory … prestige … honor … these had been core motivations since he was a boy. And now, they were finally within reach! No longer would he be just a humble herb dealer in some dusty slum. His dreams of greatness would be realized!

He gulped more sweet Kitezhian air as he reached Rungholt's new landing site. The structure had been built outside the city walls as part of series of precautions implemented by King Unruh's Ministry. Though these administrators were first to celebrate Angkor's defeat, they also feared their return. And so they vowed to protect the city from Angkor's retaliation by any means necessary. Some critics argued the precautions were too stringent. A few vocal detractors even referred to them as "a seizure of liberties". Even so, most others agreed they were a step in the right direction.

Most of the new rules were merely formalizations of a set of practices that were already commonplace since the first attack. An example was allowing military units out in the open around the city. Other rules granted King Unruh the power to round up more resources at short notice. And finally, the one that affected Géorg's ship in particular was a no-fly zone placed around Rungholt's perimeter. Its purpose was to ensure the enemy could not masquerade as a friendly vessel and get close enough to attack the city.

Rows of anti-airship cannons stationed along the city walls were ready to shoot down anyone who approached—including Géorg's ship if he did not follow the new protocol. Of course, he was happy to comply. As far as he was concerned, the measures were reasonable and necessary. Only a fool would risk the devastation of another surprise attack against a few temporary inconveniences. When it came to Rungholt's safety, nothing was too onerous for Géorg Töller.

To his delight, the actual burden was quite minimal. He even had an escort waiting for him upon arrival. It was a special transport provided by the king—one of the newer sandskipper models, in fact. It had its own driver as well as an enclosed space with seating in the middle, much like a coach. It was a fairly dramatic upgrade compared to Géorg's old craft.

Meanwhile, the rest of the crew was packed onto a separate though far plainer vehicle. Part of Géorg felt it would be more fraternal to remain with his men, but another side of him enjoyed the distinction of having his own ride. He had never felt so pampered, and he wanted to enjoy every minute of it before his short period of fame ended.

As soon as he arrived at the western gate, he was greeted by one of Unruh's aides. The gentleman was clean-cut with dark hair, except for a bit of white above the ears. He wore a dark suit, close to how Géorg imagined a butler might look. He even granted Géorg the courtesy of a free hand to help him step down from the platform.

When Géorg had both feet on the ground, the man slipped him a parchment that had been hidden inside his internal breast pocket. Géorg reached for it with his right hand, somewhat surprised that it felt so natural. He almost chuckled, knowing how many years he had grown accustomed to using his left hand for everything. Perhaps it was a sign that his body was already getting used to being whole.

As he read through the parchment, he realized it was an invitation to a dinner celebration the following evening. It said it would commemorate the victory against Angkor, and requested that Géorg prepare to attend as a special guest. It went on to instruct him to dress in formal attire suitable for a royal banquet. He had never been to a formal event, much less a royal affair. It felt like a tremendous honor, but he did not know where to start. He wondered what kinds of things special guests were even expected to do.

By now, it was late in the evening, and any research in the matter would have to wait for morning. After his long voyage, all he wanted to do was sleep in his own bed. His room at the inn was infinitely more comfortable than the cabin aboard his airship. After several nights atop a straw-filled cot with coarse canvas sheets, he was desperate to sink into his down mattress and surround himself with soft satin coverlets.

However, Unruh's aide recommended that he hold off on retiring for the night until he met with the generals for a debriefing. He groaned inside, but felt it necessary to honor his remaining obligations. He certainly did not want to disappoint any of the men who had so meticulously planned his flawless mission.

The helpful dark-haired gentleman led him to a conference room that ended up being seductively close to his living quarters. Though he yearned for his comfortable bed, he talked himself into staying awake for just a few more minutes.

Of course, the generals kept him busy until early the next morning, drilling him for long hours about every detail of the mission. They almost bored him to death with follow-up theories, next steps, plans, and contingencies. They covered every possibility imaginable—plus many others besides. The only redeeming part was that they seemed intent on keeping Géorg informed, which was reassuring to his hope of remaining ship captain. They prepped him for all kinds of scenarios that would require quick action, but he simply nodded his head, too tired to comprehend.

When the meeting concluded, he walked away with vast amounts of information to digest. Even as he rushed out of the meeting room, the generals urged him to contact them if he had any questions. At this point, he was happy to agree with anything they asked, just as long as they left him alone to sleep. With his head feeling like a sack of potatoes, he stumbled to his room and collapsed in bed. He retired, overwhelmed with the responsibility, but delighted that he was still a part of it. It was one of the best nights of sleep he had ever had.

A knock at the door finally roused him from his slumber. Without even waiting for a response, a bevy of men who appeared to be tailors gathered inside his room. The intrusion came as quite a shock until one of them politely explained that they were summoned to prepare a special set of clothes for the evening's festivities. Remembering the invitation, Géorg beckoned them inside, trying not to look too embarrassed. Regardless, they went to work immediately, never even giving Géorg a chance to bathe.

In just a few short hours, the talented tailors took measurements and fitted a suit to his liking. For the first time in his life, Géorg felt like royalty—and he intended to enjoy every moment of it. Though he would have liked a chance to meet up with Konrad and tell him about the mission, he never had a chance. He figured he would probably see him later at the celebration.

By the time high sun came and went, Géorg was starving for a light snack. So when another man wheeled a meal cart into the room, it seemed like perfect timing. Géorg's eyes went wide at the spread of glazed pastries and hearty Kitezhian meats and cheeses. King Unruh had always kept the inn well-stocked with good food, but this was a special indulgence. Géorg shoved a flaky honey-filled pastry into his mouth, licking his fingers while various attendants busied themselves around him. A barber had recently arrived to offer a shave and haircut, while an attractive young woman massaged his feet. It felt wonderful—almost too generous—though he hoped it would never end.

He leaned back, relaxing to a soothing foot rub while the barber applied a thick foamy lather to Géorg's jaw … when suddenly the room went silent.

He bolted upright, jarring the barber in the process. The man clutched his razor close to his chest to shield it from Géorg's exposed neck. Fortunately, the interruption had been caused by Lady White, who stood discreetly under the lintel. She was a sight for sore eyes, since he had long waited to thank her for her efforts. Without her help, he would have never have been able to contact Samir, negotiate the purchase of the airships, or open the portal on board his airship for his king to watch.

"Leave us in private," he ordered the servants.

"No, Mister Töller. That is unnecessary." Lady White strode in gracefully. "I only intend to stay for a moment."

Géorg wore one of his happier smiles. "I cannot tell you how good it is to see you … in person, that is."

"You did a _magnificent_ job," the stately woman complimented. "Impeccable timing, swift execution, and damage to all the right places. I dare say Angkor will be far too occupied to retaliate in the short term, no matter what the _generals_ think." The emphasis seemed to suggest she had a low opinion of their theories.

Géorg's smile grew even wider. Lady White's praise meant so much to him. Not to mention that he also happened to agree that the generals were getting ahead of themselves.

"Thank you," he responded humbly. "I had a lot of help."

"I am sure you did," the stately wizardress responded. She looked around the room at the bevy of servants, who had all paused in the middle of whatever it was they were doing—almost as if she had frozen them in time.

"I should leave you to your preparations," she bowed her head, and he returned the nod in silent understanding. "Until later tonight, Mister Töller. Please ensure that you arrive punctually. Your king intends to make a rather _special_ announcement."

Géorg wondered what could possibly be more special than everything he had already experienced. "Yes, of course," he replied, but Lady White had already disappeared. Not through the door, but rather into thin air. He chuckled, thinking about the remark she had made one time about Géorg also having innate magical abilities. He wondered if they were strong enough for her to teach him something like her disappearing spell.

His long day of preparations continued, including a lecture on etiquette from an older gentleman dressed in a plain suit. There was nothing remarkable about the man, except that he held himself with an air of such incredible dignity and confidence that it made Géorg feel like the servant.

"Please stand straighter, sir. That's right. Now, follow me if you will."

Géorg kept pace as his instructor led him through the proper protocols.

"This is a formal celebration, and you are a guest of honor. As such, they will call your name the moment you enter the room. Walk confidently, with grace, and keep your head high. You shall do fine."

The man went on to review the guest list, familiarizing Géorg with the more upstanding names, in case he should meet some of them. When the lesson concluded, the gentleman escorted Géorg to the venue, taking him in the traditional viscar-drawn carriage. The leathery reptiles twitched their ears as Géorg approached, making him wonder if they detected his nervousness.

The ride was smooth, shortly arriving at an old amphitheater, where actors would perform shows for a grand audience. The palace was still in ruins, but the theater provided the next best thing for the expected large attendance. Seating was arranged inside the central arena, where tables and chairs had been set. Each setting was spaced far enough apart for people to mingle. Several hundred were expected to attend in total. In the center was a small stage, only a single step in height, with a single very long table meant for the king and his cortège.

As soon as Géorg made his entrance, an announcer called his name. What followed was mostly a blur. Voluminous applause resounded as an usher led him to the center table. He saw he had a place reserved three chairs from Unruh's right—a tremendous distinction. He stood in front of his seat as he was taught, waiting until all the special guests had a chance to arrive. These included dukes and duchesses, counts and countesses, noblemen and noblewomen—all the most important names in Kitezhian political and social circles. They must have all taken a special trip to Rungholt for the event.

When the last of the esteemed guests had arrived, King Unruh was finally announced. The mighty monarch strode forth in a bright-white silken surcoat with thick golden embroidery. Attached was a cape adorned with the Kitezhian coat of arms, the two-headed griffon. In one talon, it carried the scarlet rose, the national symbol of peace. In the other, a sword. The insignia was written in the old language, "Pacem quam nos consurgent." It signified the country's desire for peace, even though it threatened to rise up against any oppressors.

With King Unruh's arrival, the rest of the table sat down. Servants approached with champagne glasses atop white linens on silver trays. Géorg received his and waited patiently for his king's proclamation.

The room went silent as Heinz Unruh raised his glass. Guests in the main arena scampered to the nearest chair.

"My fellow Kitezhians," the king projected. He paused only while the remaining stragglers found a seat. "It is my great pleasure to have you here tonight. As you already know, this celebration marks a victory against our arch-enemy to the south."

The room offered polite applause. Géorg did not expect much more, given the formality of the event, but he was happy to cheer on the inside.

"However, what you may not know is that we do not face the threat of Angkor alone."

Murmurs floated around the room as the crowd began to speculate. Unruh quickly put a stop to the din by speaking over it.

"Koba has chosen a new emperor. We have already spoken to the strong and capable Liu Qin, and our efforts have yielded a new treaty. Together, we agreed to reenter the War. However, this time … a new ally shall accompany us."

Murmurs surged with greater intensity. It seemed Unruh's subjects were hungry for details. A smile crept upon the king's lips as he no doubt anticipated this reaction. He quelled the crowd by tapping his champagne glass with a dinner fork.

"We have already begun negotiations with the kingdoms of the Southern Continent. During the War, Khan Daria of Malden as well as King and Queen Sakura of Ek' Balam looked upon us with disinterest. But now, they can no longer afford to do so. They have witnessed Angkor's growing power, and our goals are now the same. While the status of these discussions is ongoing, at least one of these nations has pledged their support. So I wanted my people to know that any efforts or sacrifice in this new conflict will not be in vain. I will not allow the mistakes of the past to be repeated!"

Géorg rejoiced, happy to join in the applause, which had resumed more resoundingly than before. He knew full well what it was like to face Angkor during the War with limited resources. He hoped that this time, Kitezh would have more than a fighting chance.

Unruh waited patiently for the ovation to dissipate. He looked over to Géorg and made brief eye contact. A series of butterflies fluttered in Géorg's chest.

"Before we start the festivities this evening, I wanted recognize all the hard work that went into this operation. Countless people contributed, but one man in particular brought extraordinary bravery and innovation to bear. Without his contacts and skills at negotiation, we would not have been able to assemble an effective air-force. Without his competent captaining skills, we would not have succeeded in disabling our enemy's key strategic defenses. It is therefore my great pleasure to award Géorg Töller with the Star and Crossed Swords, Kitezh's highest honor."

The crowd clapped politely, but Géorg barely heard them. He was momentarily blinded as one of the theater's many spotlights shined directly at him. Out of the light came a servant, bearing the medal that was ready to pin to his chest. His breath hung suspended, butterflies swarming. Before he knew it, his king was by his side, grasping his hand and shaking it in front of an arena of onlookers.

Géorg quickly stood up, his knees wobbling as he received his gift. "Thank you, my Lord. You have bestowed an incredible honor upon me tonight."

Unruh tightened his grip, unwilling to let go of Géorg's hand. "Before you sit, Mister Töller, there is one other matter."

He led Géorg to the front of the stage, the spotlight following them as they went. The king then looked back over his shoulder to an empty seat at his table. He used his free hand to gesture toward it.

"This seat remains empty, Mister Töller. It has been that way ever since I resigned my former position to ascend to the throne. It belongs to the Minister of Security. While you have served me faithfully as an airship captain, the stage of war is about to change. Rather than have you on the front lines, I want you by my side. That is why I am asking you to fill my old role. Only say the word, and this seat shall be yours."

Géorg's jaw just about hit the ground. He had gone from nobody to captain in a single night, and now his king offered him a position in the Ministry. Things were changing so fast. He was no longer the disabled veteran who everyone avoided. His new arm had already transformed his life, and he wanted to reach for every opportunity.

This was it. His chance. And he took it. "Yes, your Majesty!"

Unruh raised his champagne glass high above his head. "It is decided. From this moment forth, Géorg Töller will assume the role of Kitezh's Ministry of Security, Defender of the Throne, and personal Protector to the King. Here, here!"

King Unruh downed his glass and rest of the room quickly followed. Géorg sipped his own champagne, feeling the fizz of the bubbles on his lips. Nothing had ever tasted so good.

With the toast finished and Unruh's speech now concluded, dinner was quickly served. The dish was poached salmon caught off the North Glacial coast. It was covered in a garlic crème beside a sweet squash seasoned with rosemary. Completing the palate was a perfectly paired white wine harvested from the eastern lowlands. Géorg drank several glasses, and savored every bite of food, as the music of Rungholt's philharmonic orchestra played in the background.

Before long, people left their seats to mingle. Géorg joined them, weaving from one table to the next. With a glass of champagne in his left hand, he used his right to shake the hands of many well-wishers who offered their praise and congratulations. Each time his glass neared empty, a servant happily offered another. It felt almost surreal, but scary at the same time—as if he would awaken from this dream and find himself in his disappointing old life.

After a dizzying number of encounters—many of which were noteworthy faces within the king's leadership—he came face to face with the one man he had been most eager to see.

"Konrad! My good man, am I glad to see you." Géorg stumbled over to embrace his friend.

Kitezh's Primary Minister returned the amiable greeting. "It is wonderful to see you, too. I had heard rumors of your miracle cure, but seeing it firsthand is truly amazing."

Géorg raised his right hand like a prize trophy. He had spent half his life with it and half his life without. It felt both strange and familiar. "Yes, it is one of many blessings that I have received these past few days."

"Is it true that Bram Morrison did this?" Konrad inquired with eyes holding genuine interest.

Géorg nodded. "Yes, he used the power of the sunstone. It was incredible to see it."

Konrad gasped. "Then it is true!" He looked distant … contemplative. "How did you manage to run into him?"

Géorg explained. "He had just survived a harrowing escape from the collapse of Angkor's underground compound … caused by our bombing of the city, actually." He loved retelling this story. "Turns out he stood off against Cromwell, which was how he had retrieved the sunstone. Sadly, it was not ours, but he knows where to find the others. He has since gone to Vineta to continue his search."

Konrad let out a disappointed sigh. "I wish I could have had a chance to ask him a few questions. At the time, I was following up on some leads to see if I can track down the location of Prince Brandt. I continue to worry that we have heard no word."

Géorg felt bad seeing his friend so upset, but from his standpoint, the Primary Minister took his role of guardianship far too seriously—especially when it came to a boy who was well-known for evading his caretakers. Besides, the prince was old enough by now not to need someone constantly looking over his shoulder; yet, he did not want to argue the point with Konrad. His friend tended to fiercely debate anything he perceived as denigrating the price—even though most of it was well-deserved.

"Let us not speak of that now," Géorg offered instead. He was much more interested in participating in the party. "I want to enjoy this banquet. There has to be a young lady around here somewhere willing to dance with me." He also had some other devilish things in mind.

Konrad smiled, but it looked forced. He put his hand on Géorg's shoulder and urged him aside. "There are some things we need to discuss first. Please. The dancing can wait."

"What about?" Géorg challenged. Not that he wanted to avoid his good-natured friend, but there were other guests kindly waiting for a chance to congratulate him, and he did not want to spend all evening getting sucked into a conversation about business. While he was happy to hear Konrad's praise and adoration, he knew his friend had a tendency to get sidetracked.

Konrad gestured with his head toward the back of the arena. "There is someone who wishes to speak with you. She awaits outside."

Curiosity compelling him, Géorg excused himself from the other guests and allowed Konrad to lead him out of the main amphitheater.

On the eastern side were a series of gardens with paths snaking throughout. Pools of gentle blue light came from luminess-filled lampposts along the sides. A maze of carefully groomed hedges led him to an open area with statues of old warriors. There were a few benches on the side, and standing right beside one of them was a slender woman in an ink-colored evening gown with wavy raven-black hair. She turned around as he approached, and he caught his breath. She was probably the last person Géorg had expected to see.

"Lady Black …."

He suddenly felt duped. Only a short distance away, a party raged in his honor, and Konrad had tricked him into leaving so that he could converse with the gypsy sorceress. He had no doubts about the subject of this conversation.

Konrad seemed eager to explain himself, no doubt observing Géorg's irked expression. "She had asked me to get your attention. She knows about your arm and wants to discuss the significance to the vision."

Géorg scoffed. Of course she did. But there was no point in discussing it while he was half-drunk off of wine and good vibes. "This conversation will have to wait until tomorrow. Can you at least give me this one night to enjoy myself?"

Lady Black responded in her usual thick east-Kitezhian accent. "You left Kitezh a half-man, and now you return a whole. It was prophesized."

"I know all about the blasted vision," Géorg snapped. "But you will not find any separatists here! Not anytime soon, either. This country has never been so unified."

"The sunstones' power is not to be trifled with," Lady Black warned. "Beware the taint of the Ahrimen. Their powers bestow no gifts … only curses."

Géorg was getting angrier by the moment. She would not dare to suggest that his new arm was a curse. It was a blessing from the Goddess herself! He took in several deep breaths to calm himself.

"This … is the best night of my life. I am not about to ruin it with this kind of talk!"

"But the visions," Konrad persisted. "Do you not think we should discuss what they mean for the future of Kitezh?"

Géorg bared his teeth, hissing his words. "If you want to discuss visions, how about I remind you how we stood on opposite sides outside these city walls!" He gestured to the towering stone structure just visible by moonlight in the distance. "We were ready to start a civil war, and one of us is the traitor! Do you really want to discuss it right now, on the night of King Unruh's celebration? At best, it would put one of us in prison for a very long time. Is that what you want?"

Konrad took a step back, squeamish and repentant. "I … I am sorry that I upset you. I understand the sensitivity—believe me! Lady Black and I were only eager to solve the mysteries. We are both hungry for clues, and we have been speculating possible scenarios while you were heroically defended our country. I had only figured—hoped, rather—that you would want to join our discussion upon your return. But you are right. I am being selfish, demanding more time than I deserve on what should be your night. Please. Let us start over. I owe you some congratulations."

Géorg's felt a huge relief. Konrad's words had addressed his anxieties with precision, and he felt comforted. He had not intended to get so hot-headed, but he was afraid his night would be over before he even had a chance to enjoy it. All the wine and champagne from earlier had also left him lightheaded. It was probably time for him to cull back on the spirits.

"Thank you," he said, hoping it would improve the mood. "It is just more than I had expected. Quite frankly, a position in the Ministry is more than I could have ever hoped—"

Géorg was caught off guard by the look on Konrad's face. His friend was biting his lower lip, obviously trying to hold something back. It was certainly not the look of someone willing to partake in a congratulatory mood. He probably should have left it alone … but he had to know!

"What is it?"

Konrad shifted his feet nervously. "Well … not to diminish the honor … but technically the appointment of new offices is reserved for the true king or his heir. Unruh is only a surrogate king, which was always meant to be a temporary position. It would appear that he has chosen to fill his former position … which most people would consider quite odd. It is almost as if he is readying himself for permanent rule."

Géorg huffed. Somehow, Konrad had managed to turn things around once again. It was as if his friend were not satisfied by the taste of just one foot in his mouth. He looked over at Lady Black, who silently watched the dialogue with interest. It was a waste of Géorg's time to engage, but he felt he needed to have the last word.

"You quibble over a technicality. The country must fill these positions in order to function properly. When I spoke with Sir Morrison, he told me young Brandt had left Loulan with a bunch of Kitezhian sailors. If there was a problem, they would have contacted us by now. You know as well as I do that our vessels are equipped with magical long-range distress beacons."

"Not necessarily!" Konrad was clearly armed and ready with his response. "I have been looking into it. Turns out, I cannot find a single record that the royal shipping guild had ever dispatched a vessel to Loulan. If not them, who else picked up the prince? They certainly did not go through the proper channels."

Géorg was ready to spar with his friend. "The ports have been in disarray until just recently. And you should know: it is near impossible to get anything done through the _proper channels_."

"Then why has it been two weeks!" Konrad gasped, clearly exasperated. "He should have been here days ago!"

It seemed that the Primary Minister was not willing to give up. Géorg felt a dark mood descend as Konrad defended the prince. It seemed he was hardly ever interested in anything else but to protect Henrich's good-for-nothing son.

"You know … there is one other possibility." Géorg kept his tone low and foreboding, hoping it would give Konrad something to think about. "Master Brandt could have slipped out of his caretaker's hands. Based on what I have learned about the heir's personal exploits, it would not be the first time. He has a pattern of such behavior. It would explain why we have not heard from them, nor why we have not received a distress beacon. Their voyage home may have hit—let us say—some unexpected delays."

Beads of sweat appeared on Konrad's forehead. His face was flushed and he had a crazed look in his eyes. "You do not know His Majesty! He would never!"

Géorg felt he had probably pushed his friend too far. He did not want to get into a brawl over it, but he wanted Konrad to feel the same kind of irritation he felt at being so rudely held up on the best night of his life. Then again, he also did not want one of Konrad's outbursts to expose their conversation to the wrong ears. So he held out his hand in the universal sign for peace.

The Primary Minister seemed to realize that he had been yelling. "Once again, I must apologize for my behavior tonight. I am just worried for my ward. He is _my_ responsibility."

Géorg sighed, shaking his head. It was time to give his friend some good advice. "Here is what I think you should do: Stop worrying about the prince. He can take care of himself. You should be focusing more on Kitezh's current leadership. Unruh has proven himself a far more capable leader than young Brandt ever could be—and we both took a binding oath to support him."

Konrad crossed his arms, looking sulky. "Our oath was _only_ to support him _while_ he was king."

Géorg caught onto Konrad's implication, and he did not like it. "What are you saying? That you would turn your back on your oath just as soon as Master Brandt returns?"

Konrad held his chin up with a steadfast voice. "His Majesty can legally claim the throne at that time, at which point it is our _duty_ to support him!"

Géorg felt his blood pressure rise. He had never expected Konrad to openly speak about betraying their king. He looked to his side at Lady Black, who was no doubt laughing hysterically on the inside.

"You are going to stand there and tell me that you would support Józef Brandt as the best ruler for Kitezh, even in our current state of emergency?"

Konrad frowned, but he spoke confidently. "The best thing for Kitezh is to honor our country's long standing laws of government. I do not expect you to understand politics, Géorg, but understand this: Unruh has been playing games far more than leading our country. The real work is done through his ministries. I should know, since I have been leading many of them. Our country is still fragile, and the people do not need a figurehead who rules only by having subverted the legal system during a time of crisis. They need someone they can trust, and a descendant of the Brandt family is still the rightful heir."

Géorg was not at all persuaded. "This _figurehead_ you mention has ruled decisively, and he has taken informed risks that have yielded big results. Yet, you propose we swap him for a boy whose head is in the clouds and who daydreams all day of writing music and poetry."

Konrad stomped his foot. "You do not know him like I do!"

"He ran away before, and he will do it again," Géorg persisted.

"He would never—"

"How do you know—?"

"Price Brandt's future is with the Kitezhian people." The soft voice that Géorg had nearly forgotten suddenly broke through the heated debate. He and Konrad both turned their heads at once to the black wizardress at their side.

"See?" Konrad responded glibly. "Lady Black is never wrong."

"So you remind me incessantly," Géorg lamented. "Is that it then? You will base your decisions on prophesy? Then how about this?"

The new Minister of Security turned toward Lady Black. "My lady, you predict that Kitezh will be engaged in civil war, correct? Could it be because Konrad's blind faith in a prodigal prince ends up putting him on the wrong side?"

Konrad's eyes went wide before they narrowed considerably. "Stop it, Géorg!"

No … he would not halt. Konrad needed to hear it. "Could it be that Mister Rommel here is the one who turns traitor and pits the people of this country against one another?"

"Shut up!" Konrad was livid. "You are letting your new position get to your head. The Minister of Security's job is to protect Kitezh's interests, not give you license to turn a blind eye to Unruh's failings."

Now it was Géorg's turn to shoot back. The fool was not only insulting his best friend's integrity, but he was also hurling treasonous insults at his king loud enough for anyone to hear.

"Enough! You will say no more, or else you will live to regret it!"

"You would threaten _me_?" Konrad voice was both incredulous and taunting. "What are you worried about? Your new position? You think that being Unruh's sycophant means he will throw more parties in your honor?"

That did it. Géorg knew he would have to drill deep to penetrate Konrad's stubbornness. It was time to end this tête-à-tête with the truth!

"You seem to think that everything is simple … that the answers lie in old rules and tradition. But you have never been on the battlefield! You have no idea what it is like to see your friends and brothers die because their leaders made the wrong call. I have witnessed Unruh's leadership, and the man knows how to fight a war. We have no time to entertain fantasies about young heirs who are too immature and inexperienced to lead an army. We need someone who will get the job done!"

Konrad took a step backwards. "So you would stand against Prince Brandt, even if he were to return home? Even if he were to demand the crown, which is his right by law?"

Géorg did not hesitate. "Without question! I have earned the right to choose my own path, regardless of oaths taken. Mark my words. Józef Brandt will divide this country, and you will need to choose a side. It is not too late to stop a civil war from forming."

Konrad's face turned white, and he took another step backward. "I would never betray my country …."

"You should leave," Géorg suggested, his scowl deepening. "Think hard about the choices you intend to make, and consider what Unruh has to offer."

Konrad raised his brows pleadingly, but Géorg left no room in his demeanor for Konrad to find common ground.

At last, the Primary Minister stormed off, followed by Lady Black. As the wizardress passed by, she faintly mumbled to Géorg under her breath, "Beware your destiny, one-armed man."

Géorg glared at her, but she did not seem to care. She left him alone in the garden under dim lamplight, hurling curses at the two people who had ruined his evening. He returned to the banquet with the other guests, determined to resurrect his good mood.

Unfortunately, he could not get the conversation out of his head. His friendship with Konrad was torn to shreds, but was it out of principle … or pride? No! Konrad had pushed, so Géorg pushed back. There was nothing to feel guilty about. No need to punish himself.

With firm resolve, he grabbed a glass of champagne from a nearby table and downed it in a single gulp. He flirted with a few young women and tried to remain upbeat. But it was as empty as his champagne glass. His efforts were meaningless. He could not have fun when the only thing running through his mind was the damned wizard's prophesy!

He drank a few more glasses, but they left a bitter taste. With no other recourse, he left the party early. He stumbled back to the inn, cursing Konrad along the way.


	10. Chapter 8, Part IX

**.**

* * *

 **Part IX**

 _Night of Denuo, Thirty-First Day of Autumnmoon_

* * *

Matthias and his companions hiked through the night in search of the dragon's grove. The closer they approached, the more the old wizard felt its energy. An aura of calmness and serenity permeated the air. The temperature grew pleasant, the wind calmed, and the snow melted. Despite the gigants roaming the surrounding forests, no beasts were able to penetrate this close to the grove. It was just like what he had read from the dusty old tomes when he was a young sage. The signs matched exactly!

He drew from his old memories to pinpoint the source of the magical signature. Like a compass, he followed his senses to the destination. He wondered if Bram felt the energy as well. It was reasonable to assume so, given the knight's abilities, but it was not clear whether Bram recognized it as magical radiance, or if he just assumed it was the wind.

Whatever powers his Grigori lineage had granted him, Bram was still a newborn when it came to using them. With time, he could probably develop them into something useful, but unfortunately time was something he did not have. Matthias would have liked to help, but Grigori magic was just too different from white or black for a wizard to be of any use.

Not only that, but the extent of Bram's powers was also unknown. He claimed he could use them just by thinking about the outcome. Matthias tried to imagine that … almost any desired result, just by focusing on it hard enough. At first, he was incredulous. Black and White Wizards needed to train for years to learn the hand movements and words behind every complex incantations. But if Bram could accomplish a multitude of tasks just by wishing for them, then his powers might actually be limitless. Given enough time and practice, the knight could even surpass Matthias' new abilities—a thought that made the old sage more than a bit envious.

Of course, the problem was his lack of practice … and patience. Matthias could tell it frustrated the knight every time his magic misfired. Many novice wizards went through a similar phase. They would invest vast amounts of effort and concentration, only to fail time and again. Sometimes, young wizards burnt out from expending too much effort, losing their ability to cast magic for months or even years. But at least in most cases, wizarding students practiced within the safe confines of schools and academies of magic. They had the guidance of experienced instructors who watched their every move, aiding them with their efforts and supported them in their failures. Bram unfortunately had none of these.

Even more dangerous was the very real threat of the Ahriman, tempting Bram to use its sunstone. Matthias worried that the knight lacked the willpower to resist these temptations in his current state of immaturity. It was easy to notice what happened during the battle with the gigants. Whether Bram admitted it or not, he had lost consciousness from his use of the sunstone. But what worried Matthias the most was that Bram insisted on keeping his worries and concerns to himself.

Of course, no one wanted to take the introverted knight's place when it came to handling the evil artifact. If Abaddon had the ability to reach out and influence its bearers to use its powers, then anyone could become the next King Richard. At least Bram had his Grigori heritage, which ostensibly granted him some resistance. Even so, it certainly did not go as far as give him complete immunity.

Despite the danger, Matthias remained loyal. Bram was not always the easiest man to get along with, but at least there was one good reason to stay by his side—and that was the chance to catch up with his true enemies. At the end of the day, Matthias' goal had never wavered. Though he had claimed otherwise to Bram, his true intent was to make Virgil and Samuel pay for the attack on Rungholt that had resulted in Angela's death. No matter what it took, he would not back down until they were dead.

These thoughts we cemented into his mind weeks ago, before ever crossing paths with Bram. Those had been dark days for him, filled with sleepless nights spent plotting away at justice. Initially, he had planned to infiltrate King Richard's palace by night and line the dinner goblets of his enemies with cyanide. Either that, or hide away somewhere and wait for Virgil or Samuel to pass by. Then he would fry their innards with spells of lightning and fire.

Of course, none of these plans would have worked. His nemeses were just too powerful to fall prey to his amateur assassination techniques. He needed to find something more powerful before confronting them. That was why he had chosen to travel to Minoa. He knew about the mysterious Oracle who resided there, and though it was a long shot, he hoped the benevolent spirit would grant him his wish. What he found was beyond his wildest dreams. Upon finding the ancient Minoan sanctuary, the Oracle taught him the words to the greatest of black magic … Apocalypsis.

The Oracle demanded nothing in return, except to offer an ominous warning:

Beware the sins of the past, dear sage. They cause men to lose discernment between love and duty. But make no mistake. It is not possible to do both … unless a person is first willing to sacrifice.

These words carried a powerful message. Not just for Matthias, but for Bram as well. The knight had a long history of darkness that he would eventually need to confront, not to mention the life of his true love was still being held for ransom. This would inevitably challenge the knight's commitment to his duty. Matthias had discussed it with him several times already. But by now, the old wizard had said his peace, and it was up to Bram to make the right decision.

Matthias had already made his. He still had his duty to help Bram protect the sunstones, but he would not give up on his love for Angela, or his chance to enact vengeance. That meant a sacrifice, and Matthias had a pretty good idea what that meant. Using Apocalypsis would kill him, but if it meant destroying Virgil and Samuel, he would not hesitate.

As for facing the sins of his past … that was far more difficult. And coming to Vineta had not made it any easier. This was especially true when it came to facing the One Voice, Allura. Seeing her again after so many years … was pure torture.

The story happened long ago, and it pained Matthias to think about it. Back then, the avid researcher who would one day become the cleric Allura was a very different woman. Her name used to be Madeline, and she was a strong-spirited wizardress who fought hard for her place within Vineta's patriarchal wizard society. She had a reputation for being ruthless and shrewd, but perhaps she needed to be, given her environment. Whatever the reasons, it gave her a strong sense of independence, a cunning intellect, and even a foul mouth … all the perfect trap for a man going through a tumultuous time in his life.

Seventeen years ago, Matthias was such a man. He and his wife Angela had reached the stage in their marriage when they had to get serious about bearing children, or else lose the window of opportunity forever. They had wed late in life, and each were worldly scholars in the upper echelons of their respective fields. But by dedicating their lives to the advancement of magical innovation, they had reached the end of their periods of natural fertility.

Unfortunately, the first two attempts at pregnancy ended in miscarriages. Angela decided her last chance was an experimental treatment hosted by the Nexus. Matthias argued that it was time to give up on children and return to a life of research. He still had some work he had started in the Tower of Mages in Tanis, and Angela was still one of the best in her field of healing arts.

But she was insistent. There were numerous fights over it, most of which did not end well due to Matthias' hot temper. But in the end, he had acquiesced to her bequest.

Once in Kish, he and Angela met with the lead fertility researcher. Her name was Madeline, and her long and distinctive record had earned her a place within the Circle of Eight. She was the first women ever to have achieved such an honor. She was about Angela's age, but extremely beautiful—a perfect match, given her field. She recommended a specialized treatment for both sexual partners, in order to maximize results. Matthias knew how much it meant to Angela, so he committed himself to the program.

It required frequent appointments, but most did not require the husband and wife to attend together. This was a boon for both of them, since they were busy with their own research projects and working long hours was better than the stress they felt at home. Fortunately, Madeline had accommodated their schedules by offering the treatments at late hours.

That was how Matthias had first gotten to know Madeline on a personal level. He learned that much of her life had been a struggle. She competed fiercely for her seat among the clerics, and even then it was rare to get her name on the cover of published papers. She did most of the work, but it seemed the men in her life went out of their way to see that she remained a lowly assistant. It was terrible, and Matthias empathized with her disdain. He wondered how she had succeeded against so much resistance, and then she told him about her little trick.

Madeline had a unique gift when it came to altering her appearance. Vinetan men tended to treat beauty as an asset among women, so Madeline discovered how to maximize hers. The technique was more than just an illusion. It was more like the bleeding-edge of anti-aging medicine.

These were a set of techniques that helped older wizards to extend their lifespans past eighty years, which in most parts of the world was already well past life expectancy. However, none but Madeline had perfected how to utilize these principles in earlier stages of life. She was a woman in her fifties, and yet her body looked like that of a thirty year old. And of course she had to make things more complicated by telling Matthias that he reminded her of someone she had once loved.

What happened next was something Matthias had never expected. But there were several contributing factors. First, he had been spending less time with Angela, since both of them worked late hours on complicated projects. Additionally, the treatments—and lack of quick results—were starting to put more stress on the already strained relationship. Romance waned, and what had started out as a magical connection between two like-minded scholars became an academic exercise in how to fertilize a woman in her fifties. Angela was unhappy, and she became detached. Whether the reasons, Matthias felt neglected. He almost regretted getting married in the first place.

There was one night when he felt especially lonely. He should have never gone to one of Madeline's treatments so late at night, especially since most of the hospital staff had already gone home. He should not have attempted small-talk, or tried to connect with her … understand her … sympathize on any sort of emotional level. He should not have listened to her stern warning about posture, or let her offer a massage to break apart the knots in his back—the ones he had been complaining about for weeks. He was a fool in so many ways, but never once had he been dishonest. And certainly, never had he considered cheating on his wife … until that night.

Neither of them had any interest in continuing the affair. Matthias wanted to protect his marriage, while Madeline had her job to consider. If anyone found out she had engaged sexually with a patient, it would have created a scandal. The clerics would have launched an ethics investigation, and it would have very likely resulted in the end of her career.

As for Matthias, there was guilt. Paralyzing, penetrating, debilitating guilt that ate right through to the core of his beliefs. At that time in his life, he still had a spiritual identity. Nothing like a goddess or an aether, since after so many travels around the world, he had been exposed to so many religions. No single entity had earned his undying devotion, but even so, he felt that he had sinned against something. It felt like there was a force of nature somewhere in the Universe that was intent on delivering punishment. And it would wait for when he least expected it.

This fear of retribution followed him everywhere, especially when it came to Angela's pregnancy. From the moment it was first confirmed, Matthias was overwhelmed with both joy and dread. He constantly feared another miscarriage, which made him over-observant to any sign of discomfort. Whenever he heard a cough, groan, or even a sigh, he was sure to overreact. He grew to fear his comeuppance on a daily basis.

He suffered through this constant state of agony all through Angela's term. As her delivery approached, he took extra precautions. It was a risky pregnancy to begin with, given her age, but he had gathered all the best doctors and mid-wives in Vineta and made sure they were present the day Angela was scheduled to give birth.

Then, the night before, he did something he had never done before. He walked down the coastline, a short distance from Kish. While under the stars and listening to the waves lap along the beach, he said a prayer to the night sky. It was an open prayer, not specifically to Gaia or the Zohar, but to anyone who heard it. It was a beautiful prayer, too. Heartfelt and submissive. He asked only for the chance to forgive himself and move forward. He had married Angela because he loved her, and together he wanted to raise their child. All he wanted was that chance.

As for the rest … he always had a tough time whenever he thought about it. The chaos that day. One complication after another. Fear … concern … and blood. All in plentiful amounts. And then Angela was dead, and a tiny baby girl was all that remained. He held her in his arms, tears streaming from his eyes. It was clear what he had to name her.

Even so, it was not enough. Somewhere deep inside, he knew he would never be able to forgive himself if he continued to carry his guilt. If even for one moment he believed that the Goddess or the Zohar had punished him for his infidelity, he would never survive his broken heart. So he renounced his spiritual beliefs … for good. There was nothing out there. Angela would have died regardless.

But he had to go on. He had to take care of his baby girl.

More than anything in the world, Matthias loved his daughter … Angela. He had to protect her … make sure nothing ever happened to her. It was ironic, too, since his overprotection eventually drove her away.

All Angela had ever wanted was to see the world. Matthias should have understood this, since he had once been the same way. Except, his younger self had fewer restraints. He had been privileged to travel the world, but not so with Angela. He held her back. He forbid her from leaving her home town, imposed excessive curfews, and always held a watchful eye.

As a result, the moment she met a man who tempted her with excitement and adventure, she was gone. Matthias tried to imagine the odds that she would meet the prince of Kitezh, under the disguise of a traveling musician. She was the one girl in all of Vineta that Matthias loved. How could fate have been so cruel as to take her from the safety of her home and put her in Rungholt on the day it was attacked?

In the end, Matthias had succeeded in convincing himself that he was not at fault for the death of his wife. But the death of his daughter was an entirely different matter. He could have prevented it, had he been a more attentive father. Had he prioritized her needs over his own, she might have still been alive for him to hold.

Even if he managed to destroy Samuel or Virgil, he would never absolve himself of his own part in Angela's death. Deep inside, he questioned whether Apocalypsis would really help him find peace … or if it was just a means to satiate his darkest desires.

"Matthias, we've arrived."

The voice of the Grigori Knight interrupted the old wizard from his thoughts … thoughts he needed to dwell on further!

"What do you want?" he demanded irritably.

Bram frowned. "Are you all right? It's time to lure the dragons out of hiding, like we discussed."

It took a few moments for Matthias to remember what he was doing before getting sucked into his silly daydreams. The knight was right. The dragons would not reveal themselves with three humans standing out in the open.

"I was just thinking," he sulked.

"Fine …." Bram's answer sounded empty, as if he had given up trying to spar with the doddering old wizard. He never even bothered to turn around.

Matthias looked to Cedric for support, wondering if the craftsman had noticed the knight's behavior. But Cedric seemed to deliberately avoid eye contact. Matthias scoffed.

He glared back at Bram, but the knight had moved on. He was on his knees, digging along the ground. Matthias remembered him mentioning something earlier about using the same root vegetables loved so much by the viscar species to lure their distant cousins out of hiding. In the grove, it was like eternal springtime, so the ground had not frosted like the rest of the forest. This made it easy to dig with bare hands.

Matthias' shoulders sagged. Perhaps he was just a bitter old man. And a fool, too. Instead of pushing back, he joined Bram on the ground. Putting his magic aside, he plunged his fingers into the loose soil. It felt cool and refreshing. He needed that feeling to quench the fire in his gut. Any other time, and he would have detested getting dirt under his fingernails. But for some reason, it felt right this time.

When enough roots were gathered, Bram laid the offering in the middle of the grove, while the three men hid patiently behind a thick bush off to the side. Long minutes dragged by as they waited, eyes peeking through tiny twigs. Meanwhile, the old wizard's mind had plenty of doubts. He wondered if the dragons were still around, and if they were, would they not sense the presence of humans and remain out of reach?

Bram appeared to sense his discomfort. He reached out with his gauntleted hand and rested it on Matthias' shoulder. "Don't worry," he assured. "They'll come."

Matthias twisted his shoulder out of the knight's grip. Bram sounded pretty sure … but how would he know? Isaac never said anything about how to lure the dragons out of hiding. Bram could have just been making it up to sound positive. Either that, or he was relying on some kind of blind faith—which sounded foolish!

He wanted to tell Bram precisely what he thought, but he was interrupted by a noise beyond the thicket. Peering through the spindly branches, he saw set of black leathery wings emerge from the edge of the grove. Shortly afterward, a lizard-like maw appeared.

A shiver went up the old wizard's spine. This was it! The moment he had wanted to see ever since he was a boy. He would soon stand right in front of these exotic beasts, able to touch them with his own two hands!

It took some time, but two more of the beautiful creatures eventually entered the clearing. Bram stood up and approached the beasts with roots in hand. Surely, he had no appreciation for just how fortunate he was to experience these wondrous creatures. If anything, he was calm and nonchalant, as if taming a common viscar! He should have had a lot more respect for what he was about to do.

Even so, the docile creatures did not seem to mind. They sniffed his armor, slowly growing accustomed to his scent. He offered them more roots, then signaled for Matthias and Cedric to join him.

With hesitance, the old sage emerged, trying to keep his excitement under control. He looked over to Cedric, who was starry-eyed with joy, like a boy at the circus for the first time. At least the behavior seemed more appropriate, compared with Bram's stoic façade. Matthias almost wanted to join the craftsman in his enthusiasm … but it did not seem appropriate. He was better off being a bitter old man.

At some point, the dragons approached, and Matthias wondered what he should do next. Was he supposed to climb on top? Certainly, it seemed like there was plenty of room, but they had no saddle or handles to grab. If he were to use the horns behind dragon's neck for support, the creature might very well get upset. The last thing Matthias needed was for the dragon to knock him off, thousands of spans in the air.

As if in response to his thoughts, the creature lowered its neck and squatted with its hind legs. If Matthias did not know better, he would have suspected the dragon had read his mind and was now giving him a chance to climb on. The old sage chuckled at his own wild imagination, but then the dragon snorted. A small flame escaped from one of its nostrils. Now what was it doing? Glaring at him?

"Go on," Bram urged. "The viscars act the same way. They're really not that different, all else considered."

"How do we control them?" Matthias muttered.

"You don't," Bram responded. "I'm not sure how … but I think they know where to take us."

"You've got to be kidding me!" Matthias complained. Did Bram become a sudden expert in the field when no one was paying attention, or was this just another of his "feelings"? The old wizard scoffed once more.

"I might need some assistance getting on," Cedric protested, but before Bram had a chance to respond, the nearest dragon bent its knees and arched its back downward. It was almost the same motion that Matthias' dragon had done.

The craftsman wore a delightful smile. "Why thank you very much, gentle creature."

The dragon returned the compliment with another snort.

Matthias shook his head. Maybe they were intelligent, but for some reason that bothered him. Everything seemed to bother him at the moment. He was eager to get to Garda and leave these blasted woods behind him.

With that thought in mind, his dragon dashed into the forest. Matthias grabbed frantically at the nearest set of horns. The mount was far quicker than any viscar. Trees and brush flew past at great speeds. The old wizard clasped his arms around the dragon's neck, holding on for dear life as it jumped over rocks and branches. The speedy creature slowed down just enough for Matthias to get a better grip. But as soon as he did, it was once again off at lightning speed.

It seemed like only moments before the dragon reached the precipice of a hill. A starlit sky offered just enough light to see the outline of the forest. Without even slowing, the dragon reached the crest, spread its wings, and shot upwards.

Matthias gulped for air, which he expected to carry the bite of winter. But instead, it felt warm and soothing. Perhaps the dragon had made it that way, making Matthias wonder if the creatures were inherently magical. It would certainly explain the magic emanating from their grove. He wished he had access to his journal to start writing these details down.

Of course, he barely thought twice about his old notebook before his eyelids felt heavy. The comforting veil of a sleep spell descended, and Matthias felt himself drifting off to pleasant dreams—the likes of which he had not experienced in months.


	11. Chapter 8, Part X

**.**

* * *

 **Part X**

 _Night of Denuo, Thirty-First Day of Autumnmoon_

* * *

Rosa tried not to move. She lay still on her prison cot, trying to calm herself. The air was stifling, suffocating, hard to breathe—but she controlled every breath, keeping them slow and steady. She was having a panic attack, one of many over the past several days; fortunately, she had plenty of experience in dealing with them. They came and went, relics of a time when she used to be locked in her room as a young girl.

Her father had claimed it was for her protection. Tom Reynolds must have loved his porcelain doll greatly to have locked her inside her ivory tower anytime he left the household. Else, she might be exposed to the real world and break. He had done it for years while amassing his massive fortune in a job that required frequent travel. Each time, he left his daughter with his servants—maids and butlers who made sure she never set foot out of her bedroom.

The chamber itself was meticulously clean with white walls and bright pine floorboards and paneling. A handmade wooden dresser and wardrobe stood on either side of a queen-sized bed, on top of which starched white linens were stretched tightly over a firm mattress. It was too uncomfortable to lay on, not unlike her prison cot.

Tom would sometimes be absent for days, during which endless monotony would drive her to the brink of madness. Whenever Rosa learned of his departures, she would instantly get flashes of pure dread, followed by long periods of anxious anticipation. But as soon as the time came—when the heavy wooden door latched shut and she heard the heavy clank of the deadbolt—she would dive onto her lamb's wool carpet and defeat the boredom with a book. Her room was lined with shelves, each fully stocked with well-worn bindings and knick-knacks from her father's travels. She had all the time in the world to lose herself in her stories. It was the only thing she had to pass the time while her father built his empire.

At the same time, he had made it so difficult to hate him. Upon his returns, he would bear wondrous gifts and presents. Rosa's anger and frustration melted away each time she unknotted the colorful ribbons that adorned the many beautifully-wrapped boxes. She would unravel them in anticipation of decadent chocolates, stuffed animals, lifelike dolls, and best of all more books! And Tom hugged her and praised her like she was the best-behaved girl in all of Gaia.

Of course, as she matured, she grew to curse his well-intentioned abuse.

A childhood as Tom's daughter came with heavy emotional burdens, trust issues, and phobias. She thought she had outgrown most of them, but sadly, the confined space of her new prison chamber brought back ages of torment and anxiety. Whenever she reached for her magic to find it gone—when she looked to the empty walls hoping to find a window to the outside world—she felt the familiar numbness enter her limbs. Her body would break into a cold sweat and her heart would beat so fast she thought it would burst! She closed her eyes, trying to find a safe place, wishing for the feeling to pass. Oh, dear Gaia, let it pass!

Deep, forceful breaths. Subdued mind. Relaxation and concentration.

Then … bliss.

Her body returned to normal. She wiped away the sweat with the edge of her sleeve, turning her prisoner's garb a darker shade of gray. It had grown quite dingy from repeated use, and she could easily smell her own stink. She needed to be freed from her captivity, or else lose what little sanity she had left!

It had been two weeks since her defeat by the mysterious Gnostic Knight at the temple in Loulan. She should have been more careful. She should have expected that he would use a sunstone to bolster his power. She was not prepared to face that strength, and her hastiness had been her downfall.

A day or so later, when she first regained consciousness, she awoke in a dark empty room. The knight who looked so much like Bram had decided to visit. It was her first and only time meeting Samuel Cortez. Instead of striding in with Gnostic splendor, he wore a dark tunic and trousers. He looked so much like Bram, but the expression was all different: bold, calculating, sinister.

After introducing himself, he told her it was in her best interest to behave. If she did, he promised to release her in due time. He permitted no questions, but she was insistent. She would not let him walk away from her. She called out to him angrily.

"Face me, you coward! You can't keep me here. Bram will find me!"

Samuel cackled, his expression well-hidden by the room's darkness. "You are disillusioned, my dear. My brother's already dead."

Rosa's heart sank, but her defiance grew. "Liar! You wouldn't keep me here unless you thought you could use me against him."

"Question not my reasons," he returned coldly. "You're a liability as it is."

Rosa stared him down, radiating hatred.

He approached and pulled on the collar of his tunic to reveal a large scar across his shoulder and chest. His eyes were daggers. "Look closely, Miss Reynolds, and behold what your Abraham has done to me. I regret what I had to do, but he gave me no choice. Believe me when I say he could not have survived my retribution."

Rosa felt weak in the knees. The chill and cruelty of his words left her shivering. Perhaps Samuel believed them to be true … but she had to remain strong. For all she knew, he could have said them only to demoralize her. He left her trapped inside the dark room for days, right up until she was blindfolded and led to a new location.

It could have been meant to confuse her. Or, possibly, Samuel intended to mire his trail to slow down those who might be searching for her. Either way, she ended up in a second prison cell, her current resting place. It was cleaner and brighter than the last, but also smaller and more confining.

It was also practically airtight: no small recesses or vents in which to escape, no chance of overpowering her captors, and no magic. She was blocked by an anti-magic field, no doubt bolstered at all times by two white and two black wizards. Any less than that would have given her a weak spot to exploit.

For a while, she felt utterly helpless. Even her confrontation with Kane left little hope that she could sway him with sympathy. But at least he confirmed one thing. Bram was still alive. It was clear that her captors had intended to use her as a bargaining chip from the beginning. Kane refused to give her any details, but their meeting will still strange enough to leave her thinking. Bram's old friend must have gone to some risk to meet with her, despite his loyalty to Samuel. Was it because he wanted to reach out in some way?

She needed something … anything to help turn the tables. Her greatest worry was that Bram's brother might not honor his end of the bargain. If she did not act soon, the Gnostic Knight might decide to kill her regardless of what Bram delivered. And—Gaia forbid—if Bram did something horrible on her behalf ….

Fortunately, she had finally found her miracle. It came in the form of an item that Kane had left behind when he last spoke with her. Whether he had done it intentionally or not, it was precisely what she needed. Later, when she was sure no one watched, she lifted the edge of her mattress and retrieved the well-worn parchment from its hiding place.

It was an old photograph depicting two boys on a dusty road. There was no text or explanation, but she knew it was Kane and Bram as children. She wondered why Kane had brought it in the first place. Perhaps he had wanted to show her proof of his friendship with Bram. As unconscionable as he seemed sometimes, he might have seen it as a symbol of peaceful intent. Or perhaps he had wanted to prove that she had misjudged him in some way. Whatever the reason, one thing was for sure: In order to have survived so long in his possession, it must have been a treasured keepsake. And as far as the rules of magic went, it represented her best chance of escape.

Keepsakes were special. They were one of the subjects that wizards referred to as Arcane Magic, so-named for their history of subtleness and complexity. Fortunately, Rosa knew quite a bit about this kind of magic from her years of academic study. While her classroom peers spent their free time pursuing social activities, Rosa fled to the library and put her off-hours into independent research. Her habits as a child came in handy as she focused hours at a time into obscure fields of knowledge.

There was one particular loophole that she hoped to exploit. Because keepsakes such as this old photograph were considered close to a person's heart, they tended to bend the flow of magic. In fact, it was possible to bend the flow so sharply that she could alter the spell's origin to be at the keepsake owner's location. Ordinarily, most spells were line-of-sight, which made this kind of ability intriguing but not all that useful. However, since Rosa was trapped inside an anti-magic field, she planned to use this obscure rule of magic to cast a very special spell directly on Kane.

In particular, it was an enchantment known only to white wizards, and it involved connecting her mind with Kane's. It required him to be asleep at the time so that he would not resist the spell. While he dreamt, she could delve into his psyche and attempt to understand his allegiance to Samuel Cortez or his reasons for betraying Bram. With any luck, she might even reveal something that would aid her escape.

It would not be easy, however. There were rules, just like any other form of magic. As soon as a wizard made contact with another person's mind, they were taken to a place called the Subconscious. It was a mental manifestation that looked like an empty stage, on which the host's emotions would form into actors who pantomimed the host's innermost thoughts and feelings.

These actors—or rather, personas—would take on the appearance of the host body. Kane's personas, for example, would look just like him. Each had a name connecting them to various emotional states, such as "Honor", "Bravery", or "Compassion". By watching these personas perform their mimicry, a visiting wizard could learn invaluable information.

But there were dangers, too. Besides personas, the Subconscious also contained negative emotions, called deviants. A patient with a debilitating phobia of snakes might have the deviant "Fear" intimidating the personas with props in the form of snakes. By speaking with the personas, a visiting wizard might convince them to resist the threats and return to acting normally. To the outside world, the subject would appear rehabilitated and cured of his fears.

Of course, Rosa suspected that Kane's Subconscious would be quite a bit more complex. After betraying his best friend and foregoing his longstanding principles, Kane might suffer from multiple overlapping issues. His sociopathic behavior might indicate control by powerful deviants like Selfishness or Greed, who were both dangerous and difficult to overthrow. Wizards attempting to rehabilitate a sociopath needed to be committed for months if not years of therapy. Given Rosa's limited time, she could not waste it trying to disarm the deviants. She had to go straight to the source of his issues—the Memories.

At the core of Kane's Subconscious was a portal leading to his most personal recollections. It was a treacherous zone that most wizards avoided entirely. Visiting the Memories was something that the wizard and the subject experienced at the same time. To Kane, reliving his troubled past would be agonizing and horrific. Many wizards believed that truly painful memories were capable of cracking the psyche. Worse, the effects were amplified the further a wizard traveled into a subject's past. Any wizard daring to infiltrate a patient's troubled childhood gambled with their life. If the pressure ever became so strong that the psyche broke, the patient's body would fall into a deep coma and any visiting wizards would be trapped in the person's mind forever.

Fortunately, Rosa had read plenty of literature on these dangers, so she felt prepared to face them. Besides, it was her only means of connecting with her captor. If she failed and Samuel was as dangerous and calculating as he appeared, then her life was already in danger. She had no choice but to take a few risks.

So she bided her time until she was sure that Kane would be asleep. She stretched, laid back, and waited. Passing the time was agonizing. All she could do was stare at the ceiling and strategize how she would navigate through his Subconscious.

Rosa had a good idea which personas would yield the most effective conversations, but she had to be careful not to run into any deviants. Unfortunately, they all looked the same, so it was difficult to tell deviants apart from personas without speaking with them first. This was dangerous in mentally unstable individuals, whose deviants were more likely to run amok. Some deviants were even known to attack visiting wizards.

Rosa had to be especially careful, since her body was still inside the anti-magic field. While Kane's keepsake allowed her to project her mental manifestation into his Subconscious, she would still be leaving her spell-casting abilities behind. Without them, she would be defenseless against any aggressive deviants, and any wounds received in the Subconscious would have an impact on her real body. The brain still processed signals of pain and distress, and any significant injuries were treated as if the body were in danger. Rosa remembered reading about several studies that documented heart attacks, strokes, and lasting health issues.

Even so, she was no less committed. By her mental count, it was finally past midnight, and she was determined to follow through. With her hands clenched around the photograph, she turned toward the wall. While feigning sleep, she spoke the words of magic. She did not feel their power as she usually did, but her body still felt its effects. It made her feel heavy, pulled into the mattress, sinking ever downward as the room expanded all around.

She was momentarily blinded by a pure bright light. After blinking several times, she opened her eyelids to a completely different world. It looked like an infinite white plane and a sky stretching out in all directions. She had made it to the Subconscious, though the lack of reference points was disorienting. She still had a sense of up and down, but everything else looked like an infinite white backdrop.

She looked down at her body. Her dingy prisoner's garb had been replaced with a fine white dress, similar to the ones she used to wear in Angkor. Often, the mind borrowed from familiar memories as it formed its manifestation in the Subconscious. The soft fabric felt incredibly real—even comfortable—though in fact it was all in her mind. For a moment, she felt like she had her freedom back.

Suddenly, she noticed a man in the distance, slowing approaching. He looked like Kane in every way, except that he was dressed in brown civilian clothes. He wore a wide open tunic, exposing a well-defined chest. She had no way of knowing whether it was a persona or a deviant without first asking a few questions.

One thing she had to be careful not to say was Kane's real name. One of the rules of navigating the Subconscious was that the host's name caused the patient to reawaken. It made sense, since people tended to detect the sound of their own name, even when in the presence of noise or while their mind was preoccupied. If Rosa caused Kane to reawaken, she would instantly be thrown out of his Subconscious. It was not a dangerous threat, but one she could not invoke until her work was complete.

"Hello," she politely offered to the man while wearing her most casual smile. "What's your name?"

The Kane-clone looked her up and down. The corner of his mouth upturned and his eyes flared flirtatiously. "Why hello, beautiful. This must be my lucky day."

His carefree words boasted of confidence. With a grin, the Kane-like person swaggered toward her. But she wondered … was this a persona giving her an innocent compliment … or a deviant with much darker desires? It almost felt like he was undressing her with his eyes, which was worrying … but she tried to maintain her composure. The last thing she wanted was to appear frightened in front of a deviant; they fed on such behaviors.

"Would you tell me your name, please? I need to know your name."

He put an arm around her shoulder, whispering close to her ear. She felt his warm breath, as real as any human's. "There's plenty of time for that later, babe."

It gave her the creeps. She shivered all over and took several steps back. Personas did not normally interact so intimately. It seemed a telling sign that she might be facing a deviant. She could not risk him turning aggressive.

"I'm sorry," she stated kindly but firmly, "but I'm looking for someone else."

The persona raised his brows, looking from side to side sheepishly. "But I don't see anyone else here. Is there something wrong with me?"

Behind the innocent face, Rosa sensed a hint of impatience … and anger.

"Of course not." She forced her voice to sound at ease, hoping to humor him. She was well aware of her vulnerabilities.

"Good," he crept ever closer. "I just want to get to know you."

He placed his hand on her waist and pulled.

"No!" she insisted. "I don't want to."

She tried to wriggle free, but he already had a tight grip. With his other hand, he grabbed her shoulder and forced her to the ground.

She panicked, trying to pull herself away, but she quickly felt the weight of a full-grown man on top of her. He shifted his grip to her wrists, squeezing tightly … painfully. She yelped, but he did not stop … not even slow down. Wrenching her right hand free, she slapped him hard across the face. He winced for a moment, then grinned sadistically.

"I'm going to enjoy this," he threatened, bringing his hand to her exposed leg.

She screamed, kicking and struggling to break free. But he was stronger, more determined, with muscles twice her size all directed at subduing her. She thought about her only lifeline. She needed only to call out Kane's name, and she would disappear from his Subconscious entirely.

It was tempting. She wanted more than anything to be free from this terror. It was a simple word that would instantly bring her to safety, but she fought against her urge to use it. There would be no second chances!

So she twisted and squirmed, struggling to free her hands from his vice-like grip. His free hand squeezed her thigh, creeping ever upward, dangerously close to violating her …. She screamed again!

Suddenly, another presence approached from behind. Without hesitating, it wrenched the deviant off of her and tossed him aside. Rosa scrambled to her feet, instinctively putting a safe distance between her and her attacker, as well as the second mystery man.

Ordinarily, she would have been happy to thank her rescuer, another copy of Kane dressed in Templar's armor with a black patch over one eye. But she could not be sure that it was not another deviant. She was now much more hesitant to trust this facsimile.

"Get out of here," the second man threatened. "You know you're not supposed to harm the prisoner!"

Rosa gasped. Somehow, this man knew who she was. It was unusual for members of the Subconscious to know about people from the outside world, but there were exceptions. Kane must have formed a strong mental connection with his Subconscious.

The deviant glared back at the Templar with such intense hatred that it sent chills up Rosa's spine. He spat in the Templar's direction.

"Fine!"

As the deviant stormed off, Rosa watched his body slowly fade away into the cold white void. The Templar shook his head before offering Rosa a chivalrous hand.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

Rosa's whole body shook, and her breathing came in fast and erratic. She still felt the ghost of a thumb print near enough her groin to leave her weak in the knees. But beyond the emotional trauma, she did not appear to be injured.

"I'm fine," she responded, trying to pull herself together. It was not easy, but the immediate threat was gone, and she still had work to do. "Who was that? And if you don't mind me asking, could you please tell me your name as well?"

Her voice was shaky. She also kept her distance, now much more careful about getting too close.

The Kane look-alike did not waver in his professional demeanor. "I am Honor. And the one who attacked you is called Desire."

Rosa shuddered. Desire represented a person's carnal instinct to take what they wanted. Every man had this deviant. That was the sad truth about mental states. People had ugly sides, as well as the capacity to harm others. However, most men kept their emotions firmly under control. Rosa knew not to take it personally, but she wondered if she could ever face Kane in the real world again without at least some level of fear and distrust.

Honor regarded her impatiently. "Why are you here?"

Rosa snapped to attention. Honor was certainly a safe persona, but he tended to dislike visitors from the outside. This was due to his strong sense of duty. Visiting wizards were usually considered a distraction.

She tried to come up with a satisfying response. "I came here to help. This world is clearly out of balance, and you appear injured." She pointed to the patch covering his left eye.

Honor grunted. "It's an old wound. You can't help with it."

"Please," she insisted. "I've gone through a lot of trouble to come here. If I can access the Memories, then I can trace the source of the problems and return this place to stability."

Beyond the frown and crossed arms, Honor looked hopeful. "I see. If those are what you seek, then you must go through Coping. He's the one in charge. Unfortunately, he's not been very welcoming of late … not since Despair started showing up."

Rosa thought back to her studies. Coping was not a normal persona, but one that a person conjured to deal with certain kinds of trauma. If the need arose, he would assert himself as a leader to stabilize the other personas. It made sense that he would want to protect the Memories. There had to be something important hidden down there, and Rosa was certain it held the key to her escape!

The other, Despair, was an especially dangerous deviant that could represent a number of different scenarios. Some forms of Despair appeared when there was a great loss, or an object of significance that the host believed was unobtainable in the real world. In Kane's case, it might have to do with the loss of his friendship with Bram.

Of course, in darker instances, Despair sometimes appeared when a person contemplated suicide. Speaking with Despair was dangerous to the psyche, so Rosa needed to avoid him at all costs. Instead, she would seek Coping and ask him about the other personas. He was supposed to be an authority on all things within the Subconscious.

She asked Honor if he would lead her to Coping.

The persona hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "If you think you can help, then I will take you to him. We'll have to go the long way, however. We can't risk letting the others see you."

Rosa's breath caught, thinking he might be referring to the deviants. "Which others?"

Honor's eyes narrowed and his face darkened. He was clearly hesitant to divulge any new information, but Rosa tried to convince him.

"I know you may see me as a prisoner, but I truly want to help. Deep down, you must know that I'm telling the truth."

Honor took a deep breath. When he let it out, it seemed to release so much pent-up angst. "Very well. You're sure to find out, eventually. There are some who have decided to wage war. Many have tried to stop them; many have failed. That's why Coping erected some walls for protection."

Rosa was aghast. Personas were sometimes known to build walls to protect themselves from trauma, but it was quite rare to hear of deviants waging war. Deviants were confrontational, sure, but they usually only provoked and instigated the personas. They hardly ever engaged in violence.

"Who—?"

"Come and see for yourself," Honor cut her off, once again looking impatient.

Rosa was willing to back down for now. Honor clearly did not want to waste time describing the deviants when he could have been leading her to her destination.

So she followed the helpful persona while trying to piece together the clues gathered so far. Given Honor's injury and the fact that he wandered by himself made for some intriguing hypotheses. Perhaps Kane felt that something bound him to his service to Samuel … something important, but which conflicted with his other emotions. As for the old injury, perhaps Kane had an important event in which his honor was tarnished. She had to find out more, but for now she followed the persona through the empty white world.

After a few minutes of walking in empty space, she started to see the first discernable feature. It appeared like a column of smoke in the distance.

"What's that, over there?" she wondered.

"It's their camp," Honor explained. "The others. They keep the fire burning as a warning to the rest of us. We keep our distance."

The deviants! Rosa felt chills. "Do you know their names?"

Honor nodded. "Hatred, Fear, Vengeance, Rage … they've been waging war on the compound for quite some time. You must never go there."

Rosa agreed. Based on her encounter with Desire, she planned to keep her distance.

Honor continued to lead her in a wide arc around the camp until a large stone fortress emerged out of the whiteness. It was unusual to see structures of any kind within the Subconscious, much less something on such a grand scale. The ambient light cast no shadows, which created an eerily bold yet static presence against the empty white backdrop. It was an enormous structure made of stunning sandstone bricks. In the real world, it would have been the envy of any city desiring the best protection.

"Coping is inside of that?" Rosa asked.

"Yes," Honor confirmed, "along with his last remaining allies."

Last remaining allies? As she pondered what this meant, she was momentarily distracted by the lack of any apparent entrance to the fortress. "Wait—how do I get inside?"

Honor's face was rigid. "I did not promise to help you with that."

Rosa felt slighted. "What? You brought me all this way, only to stop here?"

The persona scowled. "I do not coexist well with those inside of the compound. We are not enemies, but I have agreed to remain out here. Besides … you claimed to want to help. If Coping believes you, he will allow you inside."

Rosa gritted her teeth. At least Honor had been helpful, albeit a bit misleading. She thanked the persona for the escort and marched towards the fortress.

It was clear by now that there was more to Kane than just a person driven by Selfishness or Greed. His Subconscious appeared to be in equilibrium, though just barely, and only because his personas had gone through a lot of trouble to keep it that way. Somewhere along the line, Kane must have experienced some incredible trauma.

The fortress itself appeared to be well-guarded, but that was just an illusion. The structure was no more than a mental projection—a prop created by the imaginary constructs of Kane's mind. While the personas and deviants would treat it as real, Rosa was not bound by the same rules. If her knowledge about the Subconscious was correct, she ought to be able to pass right through.

She tested it first with her hand. Sure enough, the mighty brick walls were as ethereal as the rest of the empty world. She took a deep breath and stepped forward.

Passing through solid brick and mortar created a disorienting visual. It was as if the brain refused to process the composition of the material and instead produced a blizzard of random sensory input. She eventually emerged into a busy hallway, half-dizzy from the experience. Personas in the likeness of Kane quickly stopped their urgent duties to gather around her.

"What are you doing here?" a voice demanded crossly from her side.

"It's a wizard!" another persona gasped.

Rosa's head whipped from side to side. On one end, a persona dressed in magistrate's robes strutted forward, its arms crossed. She doubted that Kane owned such clothes in the real world, but that did not matter when it came to personas. It simply meant that Kane thought of judges whenever it came to this particular emotion.

On the other side stood a rather plain-looking Kane with short hair and simple clothes. Everything about this second persona looked neat and tidy. The shirt and pants were pressed, as if straight from the steam cleaner.

"I'm sorry for intruding," Rosa apologized to both personas, holding up her hands in a non-threatening manner. "I came here to help. Can you please tell me your names?"

"I am Prudence," the persona in magistrate's robes stated. His voice resounded with perfect diction, though it also sounded somewhat irked. "And I don't care why you came. You're not welcome here."

The other tidy-looking persona stepped forward, his voice far meeker. "There's no need to treat this wizard so harshly, Prudence. I think we should hear her out, first. Madam, I'm Patience."

"I need to speak with Coping," Rosa insisted. "I understand you have injured here. All I want to do is—"

Rosa was caught off-guard by the presence of a third man who had snuck up behind her. She tried to react, but not quickly enough. The man grabbed her arms and held them behind her back.

She felt her panic return, fearful that yet another deviant had her in his grasp. She screamed.

"You may release her, Security," Prudence stated calmly.

"Don't you recognize her?" the one called Security argued, his voice gruff and surly. He loosened his grip, but he did not let go. "She's the prisoner, and she's dangerous. She might hurt someone."

"I've come here peacefully," Rosa insisted, eager to free her arms. "I swear!"

"Now hold on here," Patience suggested. "She came through the walls all on her own and could have cast spells on us already, if she wanted to. I think we should all calm down and listen. She might be able to explain herself."

The one named Prudence rolled his eyes. "You're always so trusting, Patience. Let's say we do it your way. We'll hear her story first, then we'll pass judgment." He faced Rosa with his mouth and nose scrunched in a scrutinizing manner. "So tell us, Prisoner. You came here claiming to want to help, but we have no reason to trust you. So state your reasons."

Rosa looked over her shoulder to the persona named Security. Prudence gave him a nod and he released her. Although she felt utterly intimidated—with all her instincts making her want to run away and hide—she tried to remain calm. Prudence had asked her a reasonable question, and he would not tolerate anything less than a convincing and honest answer.

Of course, in truth her primary motive was to escape her imprisonment, not necessarily to help the man who had done so much harm to her and Bram. Of course, it would not be very helpful to admit that to the personas. She had to examine her conscience and see why she would ever want to help Kane. Perhaps, it was because he was a human being in need. Surely she could look past his evil deeds and see a man who had suffered through some traumatic ordeals. Maybe she would be willing to help him out of the goodness of her heart.

With that answer in mind, she spoke truthfully. "My ethics as a medical professional compel me."

Prudence squinted as he considered her answer. "Does it, now?"

Rosa looked to each of the personas, who seemed rather skeptical of her answer. She wondered what else she could say to convince them.

"Let me through," demanded a voice in a distance. "I want to speak with the so-called prisoner."

Another persona entered their circle with a stature more commanding and orderly than the others. He was clean-shaven and well-groomed, wearing a commander's uniform from the Angkorian army. His eyes were also different … more intelligent and aware. He seemed to have an air of knowledge and control that surpassed the other personas.

"Rosa Reynolds … how on Gaia did you manage to get here?"

Rosa gasped. The personas were not supposed to know her by name. Certainly, they understood that she was a prisoner from the real world, but that kind of information was general enough to be passed down through the psyche. It was something quite different to comprehend names and identities! This persona must have had an unusually strong symbiotic relationship with its host. Clearly, it had to be Coping.

She was ready to begin her plea. "You must be Coping. I came to help—"

"I am," the leader of the personas cut her off, "but somehow, I doubt you're being entirely honest."

"She claims to be following her ethics as a white wizard," Prudence explained. "There may be more to it, but she certainly hasn't used her powers to attack us yet. I've therefore judged that she presents only a limited threat."

Coping looked her up and down. His eyes were shrewd and calculating. "How wrong you are, Prudence. The Eternal One feels strongly that she can't be trusted. It would be unwise to allow her to remain here."

"Please," Rosa insisted. She was sure the Eternal One referred to Kane himself. Somehow, Coping must be attuned with Kane's feelings for her. Nevertheless, she stood straight, aiming to assert her full authority.

"It's true that the Eternal One did not ask for me. Even so, He still needs my help. If you'd only allow me to view the Memories, I believe that I can set things right."

The persona's eyes narrowed. "That's the last thing we need! Do you have any idea how the Eternal One feels about you? If He even suspected that you were here …."

Rosa's heart skipped a beat. Somehow, this persona knew some private truths about Kane that she was eager to learn. But first she had to convince him to let her stay. It seemed the right time to take a risk. In all the literature she had read, personas granted a wider latitude to wizards offering their skills in healing. While she had no direct magical skills due to the anti-magic field, perhaps she could bluff her way to the Memories and fix things once she learned the truth about Kane's past.

"You may see me as a prisoner, but I'm also a friend. I'll prove it, too. My powers of white magic are essential to restoring peace to this world. If you truly knew anything about me, you'd know that my word means something."

Coping paused for a long moment, as if taking his time to consider it. He then approached and pushed Rosa hard on her chest. It came as a complete surprise, causing her to lose her footing immediately. With arms flailing, she fell backwards with a hard thud. The impact hurt as much as it would have in the real world. She stared back, eyes wide open, her backside throbbing. She wondered why this persona had suddenly attacked her, and whether she had to defend herself. But Coping merely looked down wearing a look of complete satisfaction.

"It's just as I thought," he stated smugly. "You're not only a prisoner … you're also still in your prison cell! Your magic is useless here, and so is your word."

Rosa felt the blood drain from her face. Coping's simple deduction had completely destroyed her credibility. She fumbled for her words.

"I—I didn't claim that I would need my magic to help you. I meant that I'm very experienced in this field, and I can help regardless!"

Coping ignored her. "Security, please escort this young woman off the premises."

Security once again tried to restrain her arm, but she shook herself free.

"No!" She was determined. "You can't shut me out! I can help you. You need me!"

Security went again for her wrist, this time successfully. In moments, he had both her hands held tightly behind her back. She was filled with panic, worried that all her plans were about to unravel and she would soon be forced out of the Subconscious. Coping already looked as if he were losing interest as he refocused his attention on the other personas. This was her last chance. She had to take a risk!

"Coping!" Her shrill tone got the persona's attention. "I've seen the deviants at the campsite. Hatred, Rage, and many others are plotting an attack. They'll come here, sooner or later, and when they do, Despair will join them. If they ever realize that your walls are fake, this world is finished!"

The other personas looked at one another in fear and confusion. They must have no idea about the walls. Coping had fooled them all. The truth was Rosa's weapon, and she would use it to cut deep.

Coping looked outraged. His lips pressed tightly together and his chin quivered. "They won't! I've made sure these walls cannot be breached!"

"They aren't even real!" Now it was Rosa's turn to wear the smug grin, and she was ready to drive her point home. "Let me inside the Memories, so that I can determine why this world is so troubled. You have nothing to fear by letting me inside, and everything to lose by refusing me. I just need to see. Please!"

Coping bared his teeth. "Nothing to fear? Do you not realize that the Eternal One will see the same memories as you? Do you know what it would do to Him?" The persona looked pale, stricken with fear.

"What is it?" Rosa demanded. "What's hidden down there?"

"Things best left buried," Coping insisted. "And I'll not have you messing around blindly! Security … remove her from my sight."

The persona restraining her wrists gave a sharp tug. Rosa knew she had to be bold or else all her efforts would be wasted. She summoned her courage ….

"Wait! If you throw me out … I'll go to the deviants!"

All four personas stopped short, their faces contorted with terror.

"You wouldn't!" Prudence shrieked.

"You've left me no choice," Rosa threatened. "You're right about me. I've lied. I'm not here to help this world, but to free myself from captivity. I won't go out of my way to hurt anyone, but if you block me from accessing the Memories, I'll have no choice but to buy my escape by destroying this world completely!"

Security's grip tightened. "Wretched wizard! We've been too kind to you. I'll make sure you leave here and never come back!"

"Wait!" Coping approached, peering deep inside Rosa's eyes. "I see her desperation. She's prepared to carry out her threat."

He continued to study her. "If I take you to the Memories, do I have your word that you'll leave here peacefully once you find what you're looking for, and never come back?"

Rosa felt a surge of excitement. "Yes, I promise."

Coping's cold demeanor did not relent. "Then follow me. Security … release her."

The persona behind Rosa released his grip. She rubbed her wrists, sure by now that she would feel some bruising later.

"Now go back to your jobs," Coping instructed to the gathered personas. "I'll take care of this."

Prudence, Security, and the other personas dispersed, leaving Rosa with their ashen-colored leader. She regretted her threat already. The coercion was effective, but it made her feel like she had stooped to a lower level, one she had previously hoped to avoid. Coping glared at her a moment longer, then stormed off through the great hall of the compound, leaving her to scurry after him.

As she traveled, she noticed that the compound did not so much appear like a military fortress as it did a hospital. Rows of beds lined the walls, each with an injured persona.

She heard a sigh escape Coping's chest. The persona hung his head, looking like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"I want you to look at this," he said as he waved his arm to the many Kane look-alikes suffering in their cots. They looked injured, miserable, in pain. Some of them cried out, which got the attention of a few nurses—or, at least, personas that had taken on the role of nurses.

"That one over there is Friendship. And these are Honesty, Kindness, and Compassion. We all hope they get better soon, but I don't hold out much hope."

Rosa's spirits plunged as she saw the sorry states of Kane's psyche. Clearly, Coping's false walls were the only thing keeping things functional. It was clear the personas did not have the strength to survive a war with the deviants. She feared what she might find deep inside the Memories. Just viewing them could add a fatal amount of stress to an already fragile system.

"I'm sorry," she felt herself saying.

Despite all the harm that Kane had caused, Rosa started to feel sympathy for him. He was just another man suffering, and the reasons behind his behaviors would soon be exposed. A part of Rosa felt it was worth solving these mysteries. Although she wanted to be free from her captivity more than anything, she felt she could help at the same time. It was perhaps a foolish idea, but one that had always led her down the right path before.

Coping shook his head. His voice was distant. "It's just a matter of time before this place is finished."

"But what about all you said earlier?" Rosa argued. "You sounded so confident. I even offered my help and you refused it."

Coping let out a deep breath. He then looked from side to side, as if making sure his words would be out of earshot. "I said what I had to say in order to maintain morale … but we've been fighting for a long time. We're tired. Perhaps after being broken so many times, I had begun to suspect there was no more good left in the world. Perhaps that's why I stopped caring."

Rosa wondered if she were still talking to a persona at this point, or if Coping had somehow channeled Kane's deepest feelings. This persona seemed so human, and she had been cruel to him. Her words might have achieved what she wanted, but she wondered about what would happen afterward. She did not want to be responsible for destroying the delicate balance that Coping had maintained for so long. Earlier that day, she would have been happy to see Kane receive judgment for all the misery he had caused, but now it felt wrong to want to see this Subconscious fall into ruin. She was better than that.

She wanted to tell Coping how she felt and assure him that she would do her best to restore balance—that she would prove herself in the end. But Coping was already reaching for a doorknob to Rosa's left.

When he opened it, bright flashes of light erupted from within. The room's center was a swirling maelstrom of starry lights and fog. The gateway to the Memories spun and twisted, casting dancing shadows on the walls. An unnatural wind blew fiercely, forcing her to brush away strands of her hair that blew across her face.

"Here you are," Coping stated succinctly. "I assume you know what to do when you're finished?"

Rosa nodded. Just like in the Subconscious, her escape route from the Memories would be to call out Kane's name.

"Good. Then as was agreed, I shall return to my duties. I don't expect to see any more of you going forward. Understood?"

"Yes, agreed," Rosa promised. "I'll do what I can. Thank you."

Coping nodded, though he still looked skeptical. Words would not be enough to sway him. She would have to prove herself. Before she knew it, she was alone at the doorway. Coping had disappeared.

She took a deep breath. The wind and lights represented fears and doubts circling around Kane's inner remembrances. Somewhere deep inside, he resisted her entry. She could feel his presence trying to block her … to push her away.

But she would not give up. She had already come this far and was intent on persevering. With all her strength, she pushed past the invisible barriers, shielding her face from the strong gusts of wind and fog. Sparks of magical energy emanating from the inside, burning her as they touched her exposed skin. But still, she forced her way closer. When she reached the center of the maelstrom, everything went black.


	12. Chapter 8, Part XI

**.**

* * *

 **Part XI**

 _After Midnight of Tertius, First Day of Duskmoon_

* * *

A fierce display of magic rippled across the small scrying room, lighting up the walls with colorful flashes. Samuel looked down from his iron throne to the edge of his magical pool. Inside its waters, Virgil's powers conjured an image of the prisoner from within her cell. Nothing out of the ordinary … until the blond-haired fop pointed to an old photograph in the girl's hand.

Samuel cocked his head sideways, wondering why it was even relevant. "Explain this."

His wiry-framed colleague rubbed his hands together while wearing a wide smirk. "I had no idea, either, at first. I only bothered to check after detecting a magical signature from Mister Harding's room."

Samuel almost bolted upright. A territorial growl rumbled inside his throat. "You were spying _again_ on my apprentice?"

He already knew that Virgil distrusted Kane, but did the foolish man stalk the Templar while he slept?

Virgil's eyes narrowed. "Maybe you didn't know, but he visited the prisoner yesterday."

Samuel did not appreciate his cohort undermining his command. Kane was _his_ responsibility. "Of course I knew. I've already addressed it."

The disgraceful instigator peeled back his lips condescendingly. "Perhaps not as well as you thought."

Samuel had no more patience for Virgil's games. The closer he marched toward his goal, the more he wanted to part from this overly dependent partnership. Still, he needed to play nice, for now. At least until Virgil was no longer useful.

So he metered his response. "Explain yourself."

Virgil seemed all too happy to oblige. He gestured firmly toward the portal. "It's right in front of you. The photograph. I'll reconstruct the image for you. Look closely."

Samuel glared through his mask. If looks could kill, the fool would have dropped dead.

Virgil never noticed, of course. He cast his spell on the pool and revealed the contents of the photograph. "I assume you recognize who this is?"

Samuel grunted. He had suspected there would be something probative, else Virgil would not have acted so giddy. Even so, the knight was not keen to give his partner any credit.

"It's my brother. I looked just like him when I was that age. I presume the other is my apprentice. Are you trying to tell me he gave this to her?"

Virgil huffed. "Don't you see? He did it purposely. And now he's asleep in his cabin, practically comatose."

Samuel grew impatient. It was so like Virgil to tease out the explanation with one small piece at a time. But the knight wanted to cut the chase. "You think _she_ had something to do with it? Stripped of her powers, as she is?"

Virgil clearly enjoyed toying with him. "True … she's still inside the anti-magic field. I've questioned the wizards on duty, and they've reported no fluctuations. And yet, your apprentice lays in some kind of mysterious trance, while she clenches a photograph of him. You think it coincidence?"

So many questions to which Virgil already knew the answers. Samuel stewed underneath his armor. "Spare me the sidestepping and get to the point. What have you learned?"

Samuel had given the lanky fop just what he wanted. Virgil spread out his arms, dancing in a bountiful display of narcissism. "Oh-ho, you're going to love it. I had to go through quite a bit of trouble to get the answers, but … my findings did not disappoint." He exposed a mouthful of pearly whites. "You want the short version or the long one?"

Samuel bared his own teeth. "Just get on with it, Mister Garvey."

"As you wish." Virgil's eyes lit up and a giggle escaped his lips. "You see, I performed a little experiment with the help of our white wizards. One of them attempted a Mind Link while inside an anti-magic field. It failed, of course, as you'd expect."

Virgil's widening smile exemplified a mounting delight. "But then … I figured the photograph might have acted as a _keepsake_. You know how those work, don't you?"

Of course Samuel did. He crossed his arms in vexation. "Go on."

Virgil pulled back a lock of blond hair from his face. "I asked this host volunteer to hand over something of sentimental value. Turns out, magic _is_ possible from inside an anti-magic field. It only requires that the wizard bend the Axon of Origin to the target's location."

Samuel had to admit he was impressed. Virgil had managed to piece together a hypothesis with little to go on, and yet found the answers quickly. His fingers drummed the edge of his chair. "So … Miss Reynolds has entered Mister Harding's Subconscious. Very clever … innovative, too. She is certainly deserving of her reputation."

Virgil wiggled with delight, rubbing his hands so fast he could start a fire. Samuel detested the display of smugness. Even worse was his partner's taunting voice. "It proves I was right. I knew your apprentice couldn't be trusted, and now I have proof!"

Samuel scoffed. The insolent bloat had proven nothing. "Your evidence is meaningless. Whatever compelled my apprentice in his shattered state to share this keepsake does not conclude deception."

Virgil's smirk melted. Samuel was pleased to see it go, but not all that happy with Virgil's persistence. "Whether he meant any harm is moot. His actions were reckless, and now they've endangered our plans. You need to make an example out of him."

Samuel rebutted with a raised index finger. "Not so fast."

Virgil's previous flamboyance quickly turned to something darker. "Don't be a fool. There's no telling what irreversible damage she's already done. Even if the Templar had been trustworthy, by now his mind is compromised! We must take care of them both, before she turns him against us!"

Samuel had another idea, but first he needed to assert his leadership. He thrust his gauntlet against the arm of his chair, sending a resounding clank throughout the chamber. As it usually did, it got Virgil's attention. There was something supremely satisfying about seeing the arrogant clown clench with surprise.

Samuel seized his opportunity. "We need her alive until my brother returns. If he defeats Libicocco, he'll have both Capricorn and Pisces Stones in his possession. We can't miss the opportunity to gain both sunstones."

Virgil arched an eyebrow, and his lips puckered. Whatever nefarious equations ran through his head, the answers seemed to raise his spirits. "Very well. Miss Reynolds isn't going anywhere. I'll just finish off Mister Harding—"

"No. You won't."

Virgil rolled his eyes, but his lips were pressed together in anger. "What now?"

Samuel folded his hands in thought. It was not his job to explain himself for Virgil's benefit, but in this case, it might be worth the effort. "Why kill him when we can use this to our advantage?"

Virgil blinked, eyes shifting. "How do you mean?"

Samuel grinned inside his helm. Another successful snare ….

"If Miss Reynolds wishes to play the _therapist_ , we'll allow her to do so. Mister Harding may be naïve to her manipulations … but it makes him all the more susceptible to ours."

Virgil's face lit up. He caught on quick. "I see what you're getting at …."

"Yes," Samuel agreed. "He makes a good servant. If we can salvage his loyalty, we should make every effort. Replacing him won't be easy with the time we have left."

For once, Virgil had no retort.

Samuel made sure to throw in a bit of comfort. "Afterward, we'll make sure that Mister Harding is the one to kill her. That will cement his fealty to me while erasing all remaining ties to my brother."

The spark of enjoyment returned to Virgil's eyes. "Brilliant. I'll leave it to you to follow through. I have other matters to attend to."

Samuel's head whipped in Virgil's direction. "What matters?"

He worried it might be another errand from the Master. Such a thing was a red flag to Samuel's dominance, especially if it happened without his knowledge.

The sparks intensified. "I believe I've found our first lead on the tower's location."

Samuel let out a breath of relief. This was good news … wonderful news, in fact!

"Our sensors finally picked up on something?" He could not help but sound enthusiastic. The excitement was contagious.

Virgil nodded, looking like a wild animal ready to sink its teeth into fresh meat.

Samuel was glad to bid him leave. "Go. I await your findings."

Virgil nodded and left the scrying room.

Samuel rose from his chair. As he left through the same door, he thought about Kane. In one sense, he was going out on a limb to defend the Templar. Even so, he believed it was justified. There was no need to sentence death over something as foolish as a photograph. He had a good idea why Kane had bothered to reach out to the prisoner. After all, he had already gone into Kane's mind and viewed his Memories. He knew what Rosa would find there.

It was something he did to all his closest servants. That was how he ensured their trust. He knew all about Kane's weaknesses and experiences. In fact, a few of them were even similar to Samuel's own. Perhaps that was why it felt appropriate to make Kane his closest ally. Anyone who had survived the Templar's ordeals was worthy of admiration.

Today, Samuel would be merciful. Of course, he expected his kindness to one day be repaid. Kane owed him, and hopefully he would make good on his debt without future mistakes. Otherwise, Samuel would not be lenient a second time.


	13. Chapter 8, Part XII

**.**

* * *

 **Part XII**

 _Morning of Tertius, First Day of Duskmoon_

* * *

Bram awoke to a gentle prodding at his side. He opened his eyes to find himself on a soft bed of leaves situated deep within a densely wooded forest. Diffuse light filtered down through the branches of giant redwoods, their rich canopy providing a camouflage for birds in the midst of their morning songs. The poking thing ruining his slumber turned out to be the end of a staff, which belonged to a rather impatient gray wizard.

"Well, it's about time," the cantankerous old man muttered. "I thought you'd sleep well into the afternoon."

Bram sat up, blinking repeatedly to adjust his eyes. "Where are we?"

"Right where the dragons left us," Matthias stated, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Bram did not appreciate the condescension, but the old man must have mistaken the knight's wounded silence as a plea for more explanation.

"In case you can't remember, they cast a sleep spell on us shortly after taking off. Their magic must have also kept us warm against the high-altitudes temperatures."

At least the magical sleep was restful. Bram felt more refreshed and alert, a welcome feeling given the threats surrounding his mission. He was rather impressed to find that dragons had such strong innate powers; if only he could control his nearly as well.

He risked another question to Matthias, hoping it would not lead to another scathing response. "Do you know if we made it inside the barrier?"

The gray wizard shrugged. "Probably."

Now the old man had gone from testy to flippant. Bram felt a twinge of annoyance. He had never thought that traveling with the gray wizard would be so grating, but it seemed like nearly every word out of his mouth served no other purpose but to increase Bram's blood pressure.

Had Matthias simply given a straight answer, he and Bram would have been on their way, free to shift their discussion to something more useful, such as how to breech Arcesilaus' outer defenses. But it seemed the coot had much more fun tempting those around him to fall into bad moods.

"Could you just answer my question for once?" the knight snapped. "Are we inside the field or not?"

Matthias glared back, which only further raised Bram's body temperature. What did the old man have to be so angry about, anyway?

"This is not your typical anti-magic field, Bram." Matthias leaned his staff against a tree so he could illustrate his points using a flurry of hand gestures. "The spell is meant to target individuals—see? Now, there have been cases where several wizards working in unison have succeeded in scaling the spell's effects over a larger area—say, an entire room. But that's nothing like what we're experiencing here!"

Bram tried to follow the wizard's explanation. Any other time, he might have appreciated a free lesson. However, the urgency to move forward made it difficult to suffer through a long-winded lecture. Bram brought a few fingers his temple to briefly massage it while Matthias continued.

"Arcesilaus has produced a field so large that it stretches out for several leagues around his city—which just goes to show how much power the sunstones can channel. My magic isn't completely gone yet, but it's close. By my estimation, I'd say we should be within an hour's hike to the epicenter—presumably, the city of Garda."

Finally! An answer to the question. Bram relaxed a bit as he thought about the Elfland capital. Its beauty was said to rival even Kish's natural splendor. And that did not even take into account the great castle at the city's center, an ancient stone monument built by the original migrants, and now home to King Arcesilaus. The architecture was supposedly a marvel to behold, utilizing techniques that were centuries old, yet beyond anything found in contemporary structures.

As Bram thought about engineering marvels, he suddenly realized that one of his companions was conspicuously missing. "Where's Cedric?"

The old wizard chuckled. "Believe it or not, he was the first to wake this morning. There's a creek at the bottom of the hill, down that way." He pointed with the end of his staff. "He went there to refill the water-skins."

Bram tried to stand. His back ached, so he arched it, aligning the vertebrae with a series of pops. Once on his feet, his hand went absently to his belt pouch, checking to see that the Pisces Stone was still there. He caught Matthias' wandering eye, making him wonder if the old man knew about his issues with the sunstone.

The topic had been on Bram's mind ever since facing the gigants. One moment, he was thinking of a way to rescue Cedric from being flung about by massive animated branches. Then … something happened, and the next thing he knew, Cedric was rousing him off the ground. He must have lost consciousness, but the details were gone from his memory. Somewhere along the way, he ended up with the sunstone in his hand. But he never remembered taking it out of his belt pouch.

He was of course well aware that the Ahrimen were able to corrupt people who wielded their power. He had first learned this truth from Zhao Peng, and it was later confirmed by the Oracle. Bram had always meant to take heed and play it safe, but he had been faced with some rather difficult choices. Deep inside Angkor's Substratum, amid falling rock and mortar, he either had to risk using the sunstone to aid his escape, or get buried alive. So he did what he thought was best.

Of course, he also had to admit to the thrill of wielding this awesome power. Combined with his Grigori magic, he could do almost anything—such as turning the tables on his enemies. After suffering so much at the hands of Virgil and Samuel, Bram reveled in the idea of using the Ahrimen against them. It made the power all the more attractive.

And beyond just smiting his enemies, Bram also wanted to bend the power for good. Ever since witnessing Cedric's crippled body, Bram was moved with the thought of repurposing the sunstone's power. And although he had failed to rescue Mica, he still wanted to use his power to free her from her transformation as a stone pillar buried hundreds of spans below Angkor's capital. It felt just and noble to use the power in this way—not at all dangerous or worrisome.

Besides, had it not been for the sunstone's power, Bram would have never had the strength to burst free from the blockage in the hangar's vertical tunnel. His native Grigori powers were still immature. Had he gone on his own, the Heron would have crashed on its way out, killing everyone on board. So, indeed, the Ahriman's power had its use. And in some cases, perhaps it was indispensable.

Even so, Bram knew there was something beyond just pure altruism driving his desires. Somewhere deeper inside, there was also a conceitedness that caused him to believe he was stronger than the Ahrimen's corruption. This was no doubt the hook that gave Abaddon his hold. It was a weak hold, but still one that affected Bram's mood and made him want to lash out to those around him—including those he needed the most.

This was most apparent as he wandered the Vinetan forests, alone with his thoughts and insecurities and bombarded for hours with intense feelings of jealousy. Poor Cedric had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Bram could not wipe the thought from his mind of Cedric and Rosa going behind his back. The more Bram thought about it, the more his fury boiled in his gut.

It had been more than a year since Bram first learned about Rosa's early morning trysts. Her clandestine departures generated much interest and speculation among the household, and it was only a matter of time before one of the staff confronted Bram with the details. A serving girl had revealed that Rosa's departures occurred on all the same days that Bram was away performing his Gnostic duties.

Bram had never been able to verify what happened during Rosa's secret rendezvous. He wanted to believe that Cedric was a perfect gentleman, and there was no infidelity. It could have been just a simple misunderstanding, or a ruse meant to mislead him. Perhaps the servant girl had received instructions from Rosa's meddling father to deceive Bram into overreacting.

Of course, that seemed foolish … a naïve fantasy. It was far more likely that Bram's role as a Gnostic Knight had finally driven his love into the arms of another. Cedric had a far better temperament and was much better suited to give Rosa the tenderness she needed. No matter how much the craftsman denied it, Bram knew that Rosa had a good reason for seeking another man's affection. And though Bram's first reaction was to lash out, he came to realize that he only had himself to blame. Cedric had nothing to do with it.

Bram suspected those feelings of hatred and jealously had left him vulnerable to the Ahriman's corruption. He had unwittingly invited Abaddon into his heart, but now he needed to regain control. Very soon, he would be faced with more difficult choices, and he did not want to be tempted to use the sunstone for help. He wanted to confront Samuel with a clear head and hope he could figure out a way to save Rosa's life.

Just thinking about her made Bram cringe. He refused to accept that keeping the sunstone safe had to mean giving up on the most important thing in his life. He had to figure out how to do both, but even as he wracked his brain in search of something, the answers remained elusive. All he felt was a constant stream of stress and anxiety, emotions that Abaddon would have certainly looked to exploit.

Besides, Bram had to set aside his worries and concerns to focus on other missing pieces of his plan. He still lacked a solid strategy for how to regain the sunstone from Arcesilaus. And even if he succeeded in hoisting it from the Elfen king's clutches, he still had to figure out how to meet up with Kane, such that he would not be disadvantaged.

And then—even after he solved all those issues—there was still the challenge of transporting the sunstone, since Bram already possessed the Pisces Stone. He knew that touching two sunstones at the same time was dangerous. He did not know why, exactly. There was much he did not understand about how the sunstones worked. Even so, he was sure that he needed to approach the next one with a lot more caution.

Add to that the supposed fact that Vineta's sunstone was home to the most powerful Ahriman of them all. The legends called it Lord Zagan. It was not clear if the name had been meant to evoke fear and awe, or if there existed some hierarchy among these demons that granted them human-like titles. Either way, it meant handling the Capricorn Stone warranted more caution than usual.

The only alternative was to have someone like Matthias or Cedric carry the Pisces Stone, but that idea was even more disconcerting. Matthias already carried enough baggage to make him susceptible to the Ahrimen's corruption. Bram did not trust the old wizard to apply restraint, if it ever came down to facing off against Kane or Samuel. Meanwhile, Cedric was much too timid to be thrust into a dangerous situation. It would be irresponsible to ask him to do it.

If only Bram had someone else by his side—a man with a level-head, experience in combat, and the ability to confront his enemy with impartiality. Unfortunately, such a person was thousands of leagues away. Bram thought of Quon Nan and wished the Kenju Master were around to rescue him from his terrible quandary.

Sadly, Bram was on his own and out of time. He hoped the hike to Garda would be his chance to mull it over—perhaps think of a new idea. It was time to find Cedric and begin the next leg of his journey. With that in mind, Bram prompted Matthias to get started.

Fortunately, the gray wizard's mood had improved. Perhaps the good night's sleep had put him in better spirits. While leading Bram down the hill to the creek, Matthias expounded on his theories of oversized anti-magic fields. Bram filtered out most of the noise while pondering how he would breach Arcesilaus' outer defenses.

Along the way, he caught the snap of a brittle twig. He stopped short, instincts taking over. He looked to each side, searching for the source of the sound.

"What is it?" Matthias complained.

"Shh!" Bram hissed. "I heard something."

The gray wizard looked around as well. A slight rustling in the trees left both men spooked.

"Did you actually hear something, or did you sense it?" Matthias pressed.

"I heard a noise … I think."

"Well, let's just keep on going," Matthias suggested. "Maybe it's nothing."

Clearly, he had spoken too soon. From the side of a tree, a man dressed in camouflaged fatigues revealed himself. He carried a bow with arrow notched and ready. Just as quickly, another archer stepped out from behind a rock. Bram spun around to face yet another attacker, this time emerging from another tree.

Bram reached for his sword when a voice called out from behind. "Hands off your weapons."

It belonged to a man dressed in a green uniform decorated with officer's medals. Feathers dangled from his long dark hair and his face was painted in forest colors.

Bram stood rigid, as yet unwilling to yield. Certainly, these Elfen soldiers were masters of stealth, having successfully ambushed him in spite of his watchful eye. But he wondered how they could have expected him, given that he entered their forest through unconventional means. He also wondered if they intended to harm him—or for that matter, whether they had already done something horrible to Cedric.

"Stand your ground, Bram!"

Matthias' familiar voice entered his mind. It seemed the gray wizard had at least enough magic to project his voice.

"Don't let them intimidate you. I have enough spells left in me to defend against a round of arrows. If we're quick, we can still get the upper hand. We can't surrender, or else we're finished!"

"We have you surrounded," the officer explained. "I am Lord Captain Tetric Barabbas, in command of these Elfen archers. We have no desire to shoot, unless you leave us no choice. Metallic weapons are forbidden in the Glade, so we demand that you remove them now."

Bram tensed, still hesitant. He watched as the Lord Captain made eye contact with several points in mid-air. From the branches of trees, half a dozen more archers exposed themselves, all with bows nocked and ready. Bram knew he was outnumbered.

"I have more than forty men within a hundred spans," Tetric advised. "You can't escape. Surrender now, for this is your last chance!"

Against the protests of his telepathic companion, Bram relented. Matthias' shoulders sagged as Bram sheathed his sword.

Bram faced the Elfen Captain. "A friend of ours was last seen in this area. I need to know that he's not been harmed nor is in need of medical attention."

Tetric stepped closer. He waved to the archers, a signal that resulted in them lowering their arms. "Your friend is fine. You must be Abraham Morrison."

Hearing his name sent shivers up Bram's spine. He stopped breathing in anticipation for what the captain would reveal next.

"Do not be alarmed. We were sent here by our king, a wise and powerful wizard. He foresaw your coming and wishes to speak with you."

"Since when has King Arcesilaus offered an audience to outsiders?" Matthias demanded gruffly.

The captain regarded him respectfully. "Matthias the Gray, are you not?"

The wizard glared back, clearly as unhappy as Bram to be at a disadvantage.

"We are a private people, dear sage, so please don't misjudge us. We merely wish to explain our side of the story. Surely, as reasonable men, you can accept the possibility that all is not what it seems."

"Like what?" Bram demanded. "What's going on here?"

Tetric smiled warmly. "You needn't trust us right away, but know this: Had we wished you any harm, we wouldn't have revealed ourselves in the first place. All we ask is a bit of faith, and all your questions shall be answered."

An archer approached from the side carrying a bolt of cloth.

"What's this?" Bram wondered.

Tetric unrolled the cloth and gave it a firm shake. "It's for your sword. As I already mentioned, metals are forbidden here. The same goes for your armor, too. Although, decency demands that I give you a chance to change clothes, first."

"You're just going to hand over your only weapon?" Matthias' voice challenged.

Bram paused for a bit, prompting the captain to offer a bit more.

"Your belongings will be returned to you as soon as you leave our forests. Our king has arranged a meeting over dinner later tonight. In the meantime, we've arranged a room for you to bathe and change clothes. Please wrap your sword in this cloth, and I'll lead you into our city."

Bram unstrapped his sheath and bundled his sword in the cloth. While he was wrapping, he asked a question that had been at the top of his mind. "You said your king foresaw us in a vision, correct? Wouldn't that make him a diviner?"

Tetric nodded. "That's right. It's one of his many abilities. And he'll have a great deal more to tell you over dinner."

The nearby archer took the sword wrapped in cloth. With nothing left to say, Bram followed Tetric and his procession of Elfen archers into the heart of the city.

The trek through the forest was uneventful, but as soon as the path through the trees opened into a large clearing, Bram was awestruck by the resplendent beauty. Even an army of wizards with full control over trees, flowers, and shrubs could not have created in terms of aesthetic beauty what the Elfen people had grown naturally.

In defiance of the icy temperatures, pastel colored snow lilies grew in abundance, creating a fancifully freckled pattern among other dark-leafed foliage. Thick ferns sprouted in between bushes covered with fire-colored berries. Huge trees full of soft white petals—like cherry blossoms—created an almost magical-looking canopy.

Indeed, the view was stunning … but also eerie in that the forest city looked almost abandoned. Not a single man or woman walked the streets. Children did not frolic in the snow, nor did any shopkeeps call out to passersby. Wooden homes in the shape of great oak stumps lined the streets, but they looked largely dormant. It was almost as if the city had recently been evacuated. As Bram marched down the central avenue, he could not help but glance into the dark recesses of window frames from time to time. But if anyone lived in these houses, they were doing their best to hide.

Matthias looked over to Bram with an expression that clearly indicated that he had seen the same thing. Bram assumed the wizard's magic was now fully gone, or else Matthias would have given him a telepathic earful. For once, Bram would have liked to hear what the old man had to say.

He considered testing his own Grigori powers to see if they worked inside the anti-magic field, but now was not the time. He worried about a misfire, and with Tetric marching at his side and more than three dozen archers surrounding him, the last thing Bram needed was to appear as a threat.

Before long, the knight approached the gates of Garda's great castle, constructed from thick vines woven into beautiful patterns. Instead of iron girders holding the vines into place, the gates were supported by a dark wooden frame. It seemed that Tetric was at least consistent with his earlier claims about how the Elfen people disliked metal objects: Throughout the castle grounds, Bram could not find a trace of iron, brass, or bronze.

As for the castle structure, it was split into several wings. Each one had steep walls of stone tinged with various shades of green from mosses and molds. And yet, they stood tall and rigid, unharmed by the centuries of wear and tear. Indeed, it was an engineering marvel.

The inside looked more like a modern structure, with rich wood paneling, hand-carved crown molding, brightly colored tapestries, and breathtaking décor. Tetric and a smaller team of escorts led Bram down a long hall on the second floor of the castle. Mid-way on the right was a large guest room, where Bram was relieved to find Cedric there waiting for him.

The craftsman was thankfully unharmed. He explained that he had been brought to the castle as soon as the archers found him. Though he was also quick to point out that his Elfen captors treated him courteously, even though they kept him locked inside the guest chambers under close watch. The same was now true for Bram and Matthias. Just outside the door, a few archers remained as "protection", which made Bram wary of eavesdropping. He would have liked to speak freely about their thinly veiled abduction into the eerily empty city, but he did not want anyone outside the room to get the wrong idea.

Overall, the mix of Elfen aggression and hospitality made Bram feel apprehensive. He figured that if Arcesilaus were prescient enough to know who had been wandering through his forests, he would have also known what Bram intended to do once the knight reached his castle. It made all the lavish accommodations seem more like a plot to persuade Bram in some way. Then again, perhaps Arcesilaus merely wanted a chance to explain his side. Bram decided he would reserve judgment until he had a chance to speak with the Elfen king.

In the meantime, he and his companions enjoyed the numerous luxuries that King Arcesilaus bestowed upon them while dinner was being prepared. The Elfen servants offered shaves and massages, as well as a bath of hot water infused with rose petals and perfumes. Later, Bram and his friends were treated to a set of fine Elfen dress suits made of silk with hand-stitched embroidery. According to the Elfen servants who brought them, they were a rare gift, reserved only for the king's most esteemed guests. They explained that Arcesilaus expected his guests to wear them for dinner.

Bram certainly did not want to snub Arcesilaus' kindness, but he had hoped to keep his distance, just as he had with the clerics. No matter what Arcesilaus had to say, Bram was not about to leave Garda without the sunstone. And neither would he bring it back to the clerics. He had finally decided that his best bet was to follow through on Kane's proposal. Giving up the sunstone would be painful, but he would find another way to get it back. He had to solve one problem at a time. There would be other chances to engage his brother, but only one chance to save Rosa.

Bram let out a deep sigh as he considered the choice he had made. Back when he was a Gnostic Knight, he never had to worry about guilt or consequences. All orders came from above, which made it easy for Bram to absolve himself of the consequences. However, as a Grigori, every choice he made had impacts—ones he had to live with, because he had made that choice.

His mind continued to be troubled until dusk settled. When the last rays of sunlight were about to disappear from the room's only window, an Elfen servant entered the guest room to announce dinner. By now, all three companions were dressed in their formalwear and ready to be brought in the presence of the king. A pair of archers directly outside escorted them downstairs to the dining hall.

Cedric looked impeccably refined, as always, but Matthias had cleaned up especially well. Given the dress suit, a trimmed beard, and some oils, the old man could have passed as aristocracy. Of course, he must have noticed Bram staring as they walked, since he responded with a cold glare replete with crossed brows and creased lips. He never said a word, but the gaze was enough to suggest in no uncertain terms that Bram had better forget ever seeing him in such an outfit.

The knight felt himself chuckling—a brief jest at the wizard's expense, but one that helped him to forget his fears, at least for a moment. He almost lost his worries to the affluent surroundings, a scene that made him feel like a visiting dignitary—or anyone but the so-called Savior of the world. Of course, his subconscious mind was quick to remind him of the fact that he was there to take back the sunstone—a thought that made him feel more like a common thief.

Upon reaching the banquet hall, Bram was greeted by King Arcesilaus at the door. The Elfen king was a slender man with a commanding poise. Short height seemed to be a common trait among most Elfen men, but not so with Arcesilaus. He stood tall with a prominent jaw, thick brows, and a pointed beard. He did not wear regal robes, but his attire was no less formal; it easily outclassed the simpler dress suits he had given to Bram and his friends.

"Please, sit," he requested. "I'd like to get started."

He gestured to a long table, large enough to fit forty men. But, curiously, there were only five place settings, including one reserved for Lord Captain Tetric. Arcesilaus sat in the center of the wide table, while the remaining seats were assigned so that each man sat nearby. Cedric sat two chairs to the king's left, while Matthias sat across from the craftsman. Tetric sat two chairs to his king's right, while Bram sat two seats to Matthias' left—or directly across from Arcesilaus. The Lord Captain remained silent, almost invisible. Equally discreet were the countless servants who catered the meal.

The table itself was covered with white linens, and on top were numerous candles, flowery centerpieces, and beautiful china. Arcesilaus had rendered the atmosphere warm and inviting, even though the attendance was eerily private.

As for the meal, it was extravagant and highly satisfying. A continuous outpouring of courses covered the palate. Fresh-water razor clams covered in a garlic-crème, roast gosling in an apricot demi-glace, smoked venison with milked potatoes, and platters overflowing with fresh rolls, fruits, and nuts. A velvety red table wine was also plentiful, but unlike Cedric, Bram abstained so he could keep a clear head.

Arcesilaus had requested that everyone enjoy the food before opening discussions, so Bram waited patiently while nervously eating his fill. Besides the occasional compliment and a few polite exchanges, the only sounds echoing throughout the empty chamber were the clashes of ceramic cutlery upon white glazed dinnerware.

However, as soon as the servants began clearing the table, Arcesilaus made his first move. "My guests," he announced in a tone that was as full-bodied as his wine, "I thank you for your company this evening and hope that you've enjoyed this meal. However, I feel it's time we move on to business."

The king of the Elflands cleared his throat and turned toward the dinner staff. "Excuse us," he commanded. The servants bowed politely and left the room, leaving only Tetric and the three companions.

Bram leaned forward, eager to hear how Arcesilaus might portray his side of the story. The king wasted no time.

"The clerics of Kish have no doubt told you terrible things about me. They might have said that I stole their sacred artifact, or that I broke their precious mirrors. However, I want you to know that I did not do these things for selfish reasons. The truth is that I felt the sunstone was in danger, and I believed it would be safer inside my kingdom."

Cedric almost choked on his wine. "With all due respect, Your Majesty, I doubt the clerics would see it that way. They are the official Sunstone Protectors—not to mention friendly ambassadors with your kingdom—and yet you betrayed their trust and took a huge risk by using the Ahrimen's powers!"

Tetric shifted uncomfortably in his chair, but Arcesilaus signaled with his hand that his Lord Captain should not get upset.

"All is not what it seems, dear craftsman." The king's voice fell to a whisper, despite the fact that the room had cleared. His eyes shifted from one man to the next. "You should know that the Ahrimen's servants walk among us."

Strangely, as Arcesilaus uttered those words, Bram swore he felt a small pulse of energy from the Pisces Stone, presumably a reaction from Abaddon. A chill crept up his spine, prompting him to send his hand absently to his breast pocket. He would not let the sunstone out of his grasp, no matter what.

"Are you claiming that there are people who would consciously serve those monsters?" Matthias demanded. The old wizard carried a certain level of indignity in his voice, but at least he had the courtesy to keep his voice low.

Arcesilaus folded his hands, his face grave. "Master Deleuze … you are no doubt familiar with the concept of curses, are you not?"

The word struck a chord with Bram, and he could not help but answer the question instead. "We were just having this exact conversation with one of the clerics!"

"That's right!" Cedric exclaimed, doing a poorer job of keeping his voice low. "Isaac told us that spawn were the result of curses placed on common animals. We had asked him whether curses could also be placed on people, but he said that no one had ever observed such a thing."

Matthias crossed his arms, his brows scrunched in concentration. "Are you saying the Ahrimen have been able to place curses on human beings, but without outward changes in appearance?"

The Elfen king nodded slowly. "I believe so, Master Deleuze. But here's the thing—and I ask that you listen very carefully …."

Bram's chill spread to the rest of his body, prickling his flesh. He took a gulp of wine from his untouched glass to calm his nerves, and then he leaned forward so that he would not miss a single word. The stern look on Matthias and the pale look on Cedric suggested that they felt similarly.

Arcesilaus was succinct. "I believe the clerics have already been infiltrated."

Gasps erupted in unison. Bram leaned even further, almost hovering over the table. "How can this be? Are there no signs to tell a cursed human from any other?"

"It depends on the curse," Arcesilaus explained. "Some Ahrimen will alter the appearance of their thrall, while others are more subversive. The more calculating Ahrimen will let their curses seep in over time and lie dormant. A person might not even know they've been cursed until the Ahriman commands them to act. At that point, the curse takes effect, which I'm sad to say is quite gruesome."

The words might as well have been a knife that stabbed Bram repeatedly in the gut. The ache was deep and penetrating as he tried to imagine what it would look like as a person's humanity was wrenched away, causing them to transform into hideous beasts.

He took another drink of wine to get rid of the lump in his throat; it tasted bitter. "We faced one of the Ahrimen already. It had possessed the king of Angkor, but thankfully we defeated it. However, the creature infected many in Angkor with blue smoke, which it breathed from its mouth. Do we need to worry about any lasting effects of this curse?"

Arcesilaus shook his head. "That was not a curse, Mister Morrison. It sounds like you faced the one known as Abaddon. I had heard about Angkor's aggression and the terrible crimes they committed against innocent people. I should have suspected an Ahriman to be the cause."

Cedric shifted in his chair, wearing a look of contemplation. "How is the blue smoke different from a curse?"

Arcesilaus leaned back. "Each Ahriman has unique abilities. Abaddon in particular uses its breath to control men like a puppet-master pulling strings. It's similar to a compulsion spell, except that it offers more autonomy. The victims will continue to act out the Ahriman's will, even when separated by great distances, and even when the Ahriman is distracted with other things. However, the effects should wear off over time, especially now that Abaddon has been defeated. Curses, on the other hand, can endure forever. And they take a very long time to prepare. Sometimes years."

Matthias chimed in. "Abaddon had control over King Richard for just a few weeks. If curses take so long to prepare, it was probably not enough time."

"Right you are," Arcesilaus praised.

The old sage frowned, eyes shifting rapidly. He was no doubt running numerous hypotheses through his mind. "But … in order for spawn to exist—and in order for cursed humans to walk among us—one of the Ahrimen must have escaped its prison long ago, and has been free all this time preparing its curses."

"But that's impossible!" Bram argued. "The sunstones have been undisturbed for centuries. Abaddon was the first to awaken!"

The dark eyes of the Elfen king landed upon him. "Are you sure about that?"

The stabbing in the pit of Bram's stomach returned. His shoulder muscles tightened as he began forming a thought—one with consequences so dire it was almost crippling to imagine.

"Ahh …," Arcesilaus mused. "So you finally understand."

"What is it?" Cedric demanded, eyes and nostrils flaring.

"Maurice Vance," Bram responded. He should have made the connection earlier. He scolded himself for missing something so obvious!

Cedric and Matthias were slow to catch on. Both glared at him as they uttered a simultaneous, "What?"

Bram tried to explain. "Don't you remember what Allura told us? Thirty years ago Maurice Vance performed secret experiments on the sunstone. Supposedly, he made contact with Lord Zagan and then mysteriously disappeared. What if … what if the Ahriman escaped at that time? What if he possessed Maurice Vance, and the clerics never realized it!"

"Oh, come now, Bram," Matthias chided. "All these years, and you think the clerics never noticed they were guarding an empty sunstone?"

Arcesilaus stood up from the table, and all eyes went directly to him. He reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a small object. In one swift motion, he placed it in the center of the table. It was the Capricorn Stone.

All three companions nearly fell out of their chairs as they shimmied in the opposite direction.

"Do not fear," Arcesilaus declared. "It's empty. Lifeless. See for yourself."

Bram carefully crept back to the table, peering deeply into the clear gemstone that rested like a centerpiece. It was indeed the Capricorn Stone—his senses were sure of it. However, there was no sign of the Ahriman.

"He's right," the knight confirmed.

Matthias shook his head. "Wait a second. If Lord Zagan isn't in the sunstone, then why did you go through all the trouble of taking it?" He stared directly at Arcesilaus as he spoke.

"I certainly did not expect the sunstone to be empty when I took it, dear sage," the king responded.

"But you said it was in danger," Cedric chimed in.

"I said I had believed it to be in danger," Arcesilaus corrected, keeping his tone calm and steady, "but at this point, an empty sunstone isn't worth much of anything."

"Then what about the anti-magic field?" Matthias insisted. "No one can create one as large as yours without a sunstone to power it!"

"Watch your tone," a voice warned. It came from Tetric, who had been so silent that Bram had almost forgotten he was still at the table. The Lord Captain's threat was enough to suggest that the challenges to his king had finally crossed a line.

"Forgive us," Bram apologized on Matthias' behalf. "But I think King Arcesilaus owes us an explanation."

Tetric bared his teeth. He looked ready to pounce when the Elfen king waved his hand. "It's all right, dear Tetric. I can explain."

The Lord Captain regained his composure, but still looked wound up, ready to spring into action if his liege gave the word.

"Please, return to your seats," Arcesilaus pleaded.

Bram and the others sat, though the level of apprehension was beyond what words could describe.

The Elfen king continued. "I am maintaining the field with the help of many of my Elfen wizards. There is no external power source required. Just Elfen ingenuity. Admittedly, it's not an easy feat, but I felt the field was necessary to protect us from the Ahrimen and their servants."

The old wizard seemed to accept the explanation. "Impressive," he admitted. "You've scaled your field well beyond the range of the world's best wizards. I would have sworn that a sunstone was involved."

Arcesilaus smirked. "I'd like to think that some of the 'world's best wizards' reside within my kingdom. Of course, our relative isolation has probably prevented others from benefitting from our advanced techniques. That's lamentable, of course."

Bram sighed. It seemed the truth was finally clear. His hands went to the unbearable pain in his gut. "This means that the most powerful Ahriman of all time is free of its prison … and has been able to scheme and plan all this time."

"No doubt," Matthias concurred. The angry look on his face spoke volumes of his discomfort. "It would have given Lord Zagan plenty of time to prepare his worst curses. And who knows what else?"

"Dear Gaia," Cedric buried his face in his hands. "What do we do?"

"First things, first." Arcesilaus took control of the conversation with firm and steady words. "We must cleanse the insurgency from within the Circle of Eight."

The room went silent. Bram contemplated the idea, but he did not want to get involved. Lord Zagan had no doubt left disasters in his wake all over the world, but if Bram spent all his time cleaning up after them, he would never be able to track down his true enemies. He would never be able to find out where Samuel was hiding, and neither would he be able to save Rosa.

"But how would we cleanse this insurgency?" Cedric pressed. "If cursed humans look just like the rest of us, how do we tell them apart? And what do we do once we've found them?"

Bram wished that Cedric had waited before he spoke. The craftsman seemed to tacitly agree to provide assistance, but time was already dangerously short. In just a few days, Kane would make contact to see if Bram had successfully recovered the Capricorn Stone. If he had nothing to show, then Rosa would be as good as dead!

Then again, thinking about Kane caused the knight to ponder a few other things, such as why Samuel would demand the Capricorn Stone at all, if he knew the Ahriman was not inside of it. Was it possible that he did not know? Was this finally a weakness that Bram could exploit?

The knight felt a surge of excitement. He was certain he could use this knowledge to gain the upper hand! He could present the sunstone and use it for leverage without any consequences. He could demand that Kane take him straight to Samuel and bluff his way to Rosa! But first, he would need to convince Arcesilaus to hand it over.

"Your Majesty," Bram broke in with his best gambling face. "We'd like to help."

The Elfen king shifted his eyes to the knight.

It was time for Bram to spring his snare. "We can't allow cursed humans to hide among true Sunstone Protectors. If we determine who they are, they might lead us straight to their puppet masters."

Arcesilaus smiled, looking relieved. "Yes, good. That's what I was thinking as well."

"But," Bram pounced, "we need a way to tell the true Sunstone Protectors from their mimics. That's why we need the Capricorn Stone."

Arcesilaus looked stumped. "But it's an empty shell. What good would it do you?"

"The real clerics don't know that it's empty," Bram answered. "They haven't known for thirty years."

"Bram, you're a genius!" Cedric praised. "Only the ones controlled by Lord Zagan would know that it's empty. We can tell them apart based on their reactions!"

The Elfen king finally caught on. A hearty laugh followed. "Yes, Mister Morrison, clever indeed!"

Even Matthias looked impressed. Little did they know that Bram had no desire to return to Kish. He had already made up his mind to take the sunstone to Kane. The clerics were not the only ones who would never suspect an empty sunstone.

Bram shifted in his seat. The earlier cramps in his stomach had returned, making him feel light-headed. He had quickly gone through his wine, but just a single glass would not have made him feel so tipsy.

"Then it's decided," Arcesilaus announced. "I'll give you back the empty Capricorn Stone, and you'll use it to root out the insurgents. I wish you success on behalf of all of us, Sir Knight."

Bram smiled, trying to ignore the discomfort in his gut, his racing heart, or the heat radiating from his body. He took a napkin from the table and wiped away the drops of perspiration from along his hairline.

"Is everything all right, Mister Morrison?" The Elfen king's voice now sounded a bit tinny.

"You look a little pale, Bram," Cedric added, followed by a long yawn.

Meanwhile, a peaked Matthias patted down his own face. "What's going on here? What have you done to us?"

The room was spinning. Bram glared at Arcesilaus, but the Elfen king gazed right back into the knight's eyes. "While I'm overjoyed to have your cooperation, Sir Morrison, I happen to be a bit less trusting than the clerics. Remind me: What do you intend to do with the sunstone?"

"I plan to … I plan to …." Bram's head felt like it was submerged in warm water. He quickly lost track of his thoughts. Everything looked distorted, and while he tried to make sense out of it, his mouth blurted the first thing that came to mind. "I plan to betray both you and the clerics. I intend to use the sunstone for my own purposes."

"What!" The angry outburst came from the Lord Captain. "You would dare admit to deceitfulness in front of my king? Are you that shameless?"

Matthias' cheeks turned red, and his glass-coated eyes looked like they would soon pop out of his head. Beads of sweat rolled down his cheeks. "What in the Burning Pits, Bram! Are you insane?"

Arcesilaus merely shook his head. "I suspected as much. And to think I almost believed you, a man who wears the armor of the Grigori …."

Tetric rose to his feet, turning over his chair in the process. "You'll pay for this, knave! I'll make sure you're prosecuted, imprisoned, and never see the light of day again!"

The Lord Captain then turned to the craftsman sitting on the king's other side. "And what's this? Is this man sleeping?"

Cedric sat silently in his chair, his eyes closed. Tetric walked over and gave him a firm shove. Unfortunately, it only managed to push the craftsman's face into the remains of his dessert. Tetric's face held shades of shock and indignity. Bram wanted to protest, but his legs were numb and his head was abuzz, as if he had downed whole bottles of wine.

"Be at ease, my dear Tetric," Arcesilaus commanded. "It seems our guests have overindulged. Please see that Mister Curtis and Master Deleuze are taken upstairs and put to bed. And make sure they are kept under close watch."

Sure enough, Matthias had also fallen asleep. As addled as Bram's mind was, he knew he had fallen into Arcesilaus' trap, and a deep-rooted fear penetrated his heart. All he could do was watch as Tetric called for a pair of servants, who proceeded to drag his two friends out of the room. As angry and confused as Tetric looked, he followed his king without question. Bram wanted to cry out, but his tongue felt like the size of a watermelon.

"And the knight?" Tetric asked acrimoniously.

"Not yet," Arcesilaus answered. "Sir Morrison and I still have more to discuss. Please leave us, so that we may speak privately."

"Yes, my Lord," the captain bowed and left the room.

Bram was barely able to work his throat. "You've drugged us …."

Arcesilaus' eyes gleamed in the candlelight. "I laced your goblet with a harmless truth serum. And your friends drank no more than a simple sleeping agent. I don't intend to harm any of you … yet."

Bram's head felt like the cork of a champagne bottle. "What do you want?"

"First, I want to know what you plan to do with an empty sunstone."

The Elfen king's answers floated around Bram's head. He put all his willpower toward remaining silent, but his mouth opened and his secrets came tumbling out. "I plan to hand it over … to Samuel Cortez."

Arcesilaus pounded the table with his fist, sending wine glasses and saucers to the floor. His voice shook with anger. "Lies! Tell me why you really came. You cannot resist the power of the serum!"

Bram's lips moved. Words he wanted to hold back were no longer under his control. "He asked me for the Capricorn Stone. He said he was willing to trade … for the life of someone dear to me. I thought … he wouldn't notice it was empty."

"Impossible!" Arcesilaus stopped, looking deep in thought. "I believe he would use the woman's life to coerce you, but he should have known about the sunstone! Unless …."

Bram tried to make sense out of the king's mumbles. Arcesilaus clearly had a connection to Samuel Cortez, but Bram's head was not much use in working out how. Thoughts came and went as the room spun.

When Arcesilaus focused back on Bram, he circled the table and turned Bram's chair to face him up close.

"Relax, and listen carefully," the king instructed. "You're going to forget about the last few minutes, except for the commands I give you. You're going to follow through with your plan to trade with Mister Cortez. But, instead of handing over the Capricorn Stone, you're going to follow these orders …."

Bram gazed into Arcesilaus' eyes, but other than the grogginess of the truth serum, he did not feel especially compelled to perform any of Arcesilaus' commands.

"You're trying to cast a spell on me, aren't you?"

The Elfen king stopped short. "It isn't working? No … you're resistant, somehow. It must have to do with your powers."

"You mean … my Grigori powers?"

Arcesilaus leaned over and grabbed Bram by the jaw, squeezing it tightly. "It's just like your brother said. You have no idea what you are."

"I know what I am!" Bram tried to sound angry, but the words felt weak.

The king merely laughed; it was a deep and maniacal laugh—the laugh of a madman! "Well then, it seems Plan A isn't going to work. Time for Plan B. Empty your pockets."

This new command had to mean only one thing. Arcesilaus sought the Pisces Stone. Bram's eyes went wide in alarm. "Arcesilaus, no!" He tried to work his slack jaw. "It's dangerous!"

Grinning widely, the Elfen king reached into his own coat pocket to produce yet another sunstone. Somewhere from the back of Bram's mind, he knew it to be the Gemini Stone.

"How … how did you come … to possess that?" Between the effects of the drugs and the pure terror coursing through him, Bram could barely complete his sentence.

Arcesilaus said nothing. He simply brought it close to Bram's body until it emitted a bright yellow light. As he waved it around, the light was brightest right next to Bram's breast pocket, where he kept the Pisces Stone.

No! Bram wanted to reach out and stop this mad king, but his arms were limp. "Arcesilaus, please!" He tried to overcome the effect of the drugs. "Whatever … you think you're doing … you must stop! You can't … touch two sunstones … at the same time!"

But it was too late. Arcesilaus fished into Bram's pocket and pulled out the Pisces Stone. It shined a bright cerulean blue the moment it was exposed. Arcesilaus grinned so widely it nearly split his face in two. The light of both sunstones bathed the king's face in an unholy light, turning it sickly and gaunt.

With a crazed look in his eyes, the Elfen king turned toward Bram. "Who do you think you're speaking to?"

Bram knew that no mortal could hold two sunstones at the same time. "You're not King Arcesilaus …." An overwhelming fear gripped the back of his mind.

The eyes inside the body of the Elfen king erupted in flames. "You're right. I'm not Arcesilaus. I only wear his skin!"

The creature's laughter echoed throughout the room, extinguishing the light of the candles and leaving the chamber in dull shades of azure and gold.

"But … why?" Bram tried to make sense out of the evening's events. "Why … bring us to this castle? Why … go through an elaborate dinner? Why drug us … when we were already your prisoners?"

The creature who looked like Arcesilaus rose into the air, hovering over Bram like a banshee. "I'm not like the others, you see. Predators attack with brute force, exposing their true forms and leaving themselves vulnerable. Rather, I am the spider. I lie in wait as my prey enters my trap. I give them my silk and watch as they wrap it around their bodies, believing it to be another of their coveted fineries. I watch them gorge on comfort and grandeur while I feed off their bliss and ignorance. Then I can use them as I please. You could say it gives me strength, my little insect. And so far you've played your part well."

Bram turned away, but he was powerless to escape the creature's gaze.

The Elfen king looked at him like a piece of food. "I have plans for you, Grigori. Before this day is done, my brother shall be wearing your skin, and we shall reign chaos upon this world together!"

With a snap of Arcesilaus' fingers, a pair of servants entered the room. Before Bram knew it, they had him by the arms and were dragging him away. He was still too dazed to fight back.

"No! It's not possible. You're … Libicocco!"

The Pisces Stone was now in the Ahriman's possession, but Bram still heard the voice of Abaddon laugh with delight.


	14. Chapter 8, Part XIII

**.**

* * *

 **Part XIII**

 _Morning of Tertius, First Day of Duskmoon_

* * *

When Rosa first started studying magic, she had chosen her specialty to be the Healing Arts, which focused on curing physical ailments or injuries. But there was another domain that had also captured her interest. Whether due to its complexity or its mysteries, Rosa had always been fascinated by the study of the mind. In fact, the wizard community at large considered few other things to be as intricate or enigmatic. Even so, there was one part of the mind in particular that wizards had always found to be most puzzling—and that was a person's memories.

For centuries, wizards had dedicated their lives to advance a basic understanding of how people stored and sorted through the most profound and impressionable parts of their lives. Memories had a habit of enduring, even though people sometimes had difficulty recalling them while in a conscious state. Indeed, certain moments often became obscured by the passage of time, while others were repressed as a result of trauma, but all could be accessed with the right techniques.

The size of a person's memories was immense, like a book as wide as the ocean. Turning through the pages in search of a specific time and place took training and expertise; otherwise, wizards could spend an entire lifetime adrift in indecipherable scenes and images.

Experienced wizards used a series of meditative techniques to form a mental link with their host. Rosa had already done this when she entered Kane's Subconscious, and she had been trained by the best. Her old schoolmaster, Jean Vieillechaise, had taught her a number of useful methods.

She sighed, thinking back to that fateful night when Jean and Virgil Garvey faced off in an epic duel of wizardry. She regretted being unable to save her cherished professor that night, but she would always remember what he had taught her.

One of the handier techniques was known as an Anchor Point—usually a person's face or a familiar location that the wizard and host had in common. Using Anchor Points, the wizard could coax the host's memories forward or backward through time.

Success was strongest when the memories were more recent and the Anchor Points more familiar. The result was a lifelike scene of the host's past that was almost indistinguishable from the real world. However, unfamiliar Anchor Points—or those connecting to a person's distant past—made the scenes appear grainy and unreadable, if they were even reachable at all.

There were also limitations. Wizards could not speak to or interact with the people in the memories. And sometimes, certain parts of the memories would show up clearer than others; it depended on how strong of an impression they left with their host.

For example, if a wizard were to visit Rosa's Memories to view her first dance with Bram, they would see a vivid scene of two lovers joined in close embrace. However, the faces of the nearby dancers would be blurred and unidentifiable. This was because the other dancers left far less of an impression on Rosa's memory than that of her partner.

With all this in mind, Rosa began her journey through Kane's Memories with her abduction in the temple of Loulan, the day Samuel Cortez stole the Sagittarius Stone. The memory was a simple one to recall, since it involved both Kane and herself.

Traveling through the Memories was a thrilling experience. It was Rosa's first time doing it on a real person, as opposed to the simulated environments created for the classroom. Everything up until this point had been theoretical, but now she was able to experience it all firsthand—the so-called Time Tunnel.

Inside this virtual corridor, images ran on all sides, stretched as if imprinted on a piece of putty and pulled. Each of the scenes might have been meaningful to Kane, but Rosa lacked the context to understand them. To her, it resulted in a dizzying string of non-sequiturs. Each scene bled into the others, furiously shifting and changing until they formed a single stable environment.

At last, she found herself in the courtyard in front of the palace of Loulan. Kane carried her still-unconscious body through piles of corpses belonging to Angkorian soldiers and spawn. Samuel had brought these with him in a brutal attempt to clear a path to the Koban temple. At the end of the courtyard was a black orb, from which tendrils of dark wispy smoke poured out from all sides.

Based on her studies, it appeared to be a transport gate. Conjuring one of these took incredible energy, and they were rare even among powerful black wizards. Kane stepped into the black orb and disappeared, but rather than following him inside, Rosa willed his Memories forward by a few moments. This caused the courtyard to quickly transition to the inside of an airship—most likely the Goliath.

She watched a few minutes longer as Kane addressed a few men in black robes that Rosa assumed were Samuel's wizards. Together, these men directed Kane to the darkened cell where Rosa first remembered waking.

While this particular memory did not show her much that she did not already know, it was a useful start, since it helped to fill in a few blanks. And besides … she was just warming up.

Her next stop utilized another Anchor Point she and Kane knew quite well: her beloved Bram. She turned the Time Tunnel backward to the last time Kane and Bram were together, which she assumed was their confrontation in the valley of Ur. She hoped that seeing the scene for herself would help her to understand it from Kane's perspective. If she was lucky, it would put some of his actions into context.

Sure enough, the burning valley appeared amid screams of horror and despair. Watching the scene unfold was heartbreaking. The carnage that befell the Conjurion village was unlike anything she had seen before. Her heart wept for the grieving tribesmen as their family members were killed before their very eyes. So many lay dead, so many stricken by fear and grief, so many lives and loved ones lost—she had to turn away!

She could not watch as the people burned all around her. The smoke and char did not truly enter her lungs, but her sense of smell still detected the ash from the ruined village huts, seasoned with a subtle hint of burning flesh. She gagged. Her head fell, and she felt gray flakes of once-Conjurion rain down from a crimson-colored sky as spawn and Aeons fought to the death. She had read tomes describing these awesome creatures, but nothing could have prepared her for seeing it all first-hand.

Despite all the chaos, Kane paid it no heed; he was transfixed on Bram, as if solving his personal drama were more important than all the death and destruction happening around him. He showed no sympathy and no compassion as he faced off against his best friend. There were no tears until Bram denounced his loyalties and left to help the remaining villagers.

Kane did not follow. He was awestruck, clearly heartbroken as he sank to his knees and wept. Rosa shook her head. The signs clearly pointed to some kind of dissociative disorder—a fugue state where Kane's morals were temporarily suspended. For that moment, his friendship with Bram was all that mattered. Somewhere along the line, Kane must have faced an unspeakable trauma. She had to dig deeper.

Since ending his friendship with Bram, Kane shifted his loyalties to Samuel. It was unlikely that the Gnostic Knight was the cause of Kane's trauma, but he might have provided the right solution—one that demanded a commensurate level of quid pro quo. It was the next logical place to look, so Rosa adjusted her Anchor Point to the man at the center of all of her and Bram's troubles.

Fortunately, she remembered his face clearly. Though similar to Bram's, it was still unique enough to create a distinct image. Keeping it firmly in mind, she rewound the Time Tunnel to the point when Kane and Samuel first met, hoping it would shed some light on their mysterious relationship.

When the Time Tunnel stabilized, she found herself in a familiar marketplace in Niedam. It was bustling, though the faces of individuals were blurry and undefined. There was also a deep and pervasive fog throughout. Even so, an unseen light cast shadows as strongly as a mid-day sun could manage. Rosa was familiar with this visual disturbance—a sign of a repressed memory. Though still present in Kane's mind, the details had been obscured due to the stress he had once experienced.

She was caught off guard when Kane suddenly dashed right past her, dressed in a drab overcoat and civilian garb. She could tell by the look on his face that he was anxious. His shoulders slumped and his hands dug deep inside his coat pockets. His face was half buried by his coat's thick collar, but he was clearly a man in torment. Every few moments, he looked over his shoulder, perhaps worried about someone sneaking up on him. Then again, it was more like he was keeping an eye out for someone that he only knew by description.

Rosa followed closely.

A couple of blocks into the market district, his eyes locked onto one of the passersby. He quickly brought a hand out of his pocket, which was clenched tightly around a small brown bag. As soon as a stranger dressed in similar clothes passed by, he subtly exchanged his bag for a nearly identical object. The other man did not say a word, nor did he acknowledge Kane's existence. As soon as he made the exchange, the stranger nonchalantly disappeared into the crowd. Kane tried to do the same. He continued on his way as if nothing had happened.

He did not make it far, though. As soon as he passed by a nearby alleyway, a person reached out, grabbed him, and quickly dragged him deep inside. No one seemed to notice—or, perhaps, no one chose to get involved.

Rosa rushed in to get a clearer view. The accoster turned out to be a Gnostic Knight, whose identity was hidden behind his horned helm. He slammed Kane against the brick wall of one of the side buildings, hard enough to knock the wind right out of him. Rosa gave a squeal at the violence, thankful that it was just a passive scene from Kane's memory, and not a place where anyone would notice. She was sure the knight was Samuel Cortez.

The Gnostic leaned in close to Kane's face, and his deep voice rattled the stone walls. "Smuggling illegal contraband, are you?"

Kane looked absolutely terrified. "I—I don't know what you're talking about."

"Hand over the bag. Now!" The knight's voice and body language left no room for bluffing.

Kane reached inside his coat pocket and produced the brown bag. His hand shook as he handed it over. Samuel reached inside and removed a small black vial, barely as large as a man's thumb.

His voice was laced with disgust. "How much did this cost you?"

Kane looked pale, his eyes transfixed on the stone bricks of the alleyway. "Everything I own."

Though still hidden by his helm, Rosa imagined Samuel's face to be twisted with revulsion. "You must have had a pitiful life. So tell me—who did you think you could kill with this poison?"

Kane's voice was monotone; his eyes were vacant. "It was meant for me."

Samuel grabbed Kane by the neck and forced him to look into the deep soulless sockets of his skull-shaped helm. "You're a disgrace, Kane Harding. You were once a man with high ambitions. Tell me how someone such as you could be reduced to such a sniveling wretch."

Kane scoffed. "Do I know you?"

The knight took a few steps back to give himself room to remove his helm. The moment Kane saw his face, he almost jumped. Soon afterward his jaw muscles went slack. "I don't believe it … Bram?"

"No," the knight confirmed. "My name is Samuel. Abraham Morrison is my brother."

Kane blinked a few times, looking like he was not comprehending the face before him. "But … Bram never had …."

Rosa knew what Kane was going to say before he even finished his sentence. Bram had grown up an orphan, leaving his birth and his family origin a mystery. Rosa had an intense interest to learn more about what had made his brother so bitter and vindictive, but that would need to wait for another day. For now, Samuel was quick to cut Kane short and redirect the conversation.

"Ask me no questions of my past." His tone was authoritative and bitter. "Answer me only what it would be worth to you, if you could look your long-lost friend in the face and tell him with pride that you have achieved the highest honor this country can bestow."

Rosa was shocked with how targeted and specific the proposal sounded. It was almost as if Samuel knew the innermost desires of Kane's heart. And from the look on Kane's face, he appeared to be in shock.

The Templar took a few steps backwards until he found himself with his back flat against the brick wall. He practically trembled. "Who … who are you?"

Samuel stepped forward, closing the distance, his presence oppressive and bullying. "Answer the question, Mister Harding! You and I both know that moments ago you contemplated suicide. What else have you to lose, then, by taking my offer seriously?"

Kane looked like a cornered animal. His breaths were short and rapid, and his pupils shrank to the size of pinpoints. "You don't know what I've done!"

Samuel smirked. He knew he had his mark right where he wanted him. His voice was almost taunting. "You must be referring to the investigation by the Templar Order. Yes, I'm well aware of their report into their sole survivor at the battle of Dobb's Plain. In fact, I suspect they must be just about finished."

If it were possible, Kane slinked even closer to the brick wall. His knees buckled, and he looked like a flower wilting in the heat of Samuel's glare. And yet the Gnostic persisted, determined to strike at the heart of Kane's fragile psyche.

"Very soon, they'll announce their findings, which I think will confirm everyone's suspicions. That in the famous battle that ended the War, the last Templar standing was none other than a traitor—one who, while under duress, revealed the location of his Grandmaster to the enemy. Based on that breach of intelligence, the Koban forces succeeded in assassinating the leader of the Templar organization, one of the most important figureheads of Angkorian society."

Rosa gasped. It all finally made sense!

Kane hung his head and his entire body slid down the brick wall like a bleeding oil painting on a hot day. But Samuel was not finished. In fact, he pressed even harder.

"You should already know, Mister Harding, that the punishment for your crime is death. However, it won't be enough … not this time. You've embarrassed not only the Templar institution, but quite possibly torn asunder the fabric of the nation itself. In this time of war, the Templars represented our country's core strength and honor, giving us the morale we needed to survive the atrocities left in our wake.

"But you've desecrated that institution. And you've made a mockery of our unity. Imagine the public outcry for your blood … the brutality they will demand … the thirst for extreme pain and humiliation. Not only will the Order hand you over to the king's executioner … they will gladly make you into an example fit for future generations. Do you understand what that means, Mister Harding?"

Kane broke out into tears. "What do you want from me?"

Samuel's tone shifted. Having completely broken down his victim, he quickly changed his tactics to something brighter and more uplifting. "Do not despair just yet. I've come here to help you."

Kane paused, holding back his tears just long enough to question whether he heard correctly. "What …?"

Samuel grabbed Kane by the collar and jerked him to his feet. He then shoved Kane hard enough against the wall to jolt him to his senses. Kane stood on his own, but just barely.

Now that Kane was lucid, Samuel went on with his proposal. "I have the power to make the investigation's findings disappear. And I'll do this for you, as long as you provide me with something in return."

Kane stared at the knight, but his eyes were glazed and empty. He did not look happy, or even relieved; he appeared to be in shock.

"Did you hear me, Mister Harding?" Samuel prompted impatiently.

Kane nodded. "Yes. What do you want me to do?"

Samuel's scowl melted and a soft chuckle came from his lips. "Right to the point. That's what I like about you. But this is not blackmail, Mister Harding. If you do as I ask, I have great things in store for you."

Kane's expression was difficult to read. He might have either thought that Samuel was his savior, or perhaps that it was all just a cruel joke. And for a few tense moments, he seemed reluctant to make up his mind. Samuel kept his glare steady, waiting for the Templar to make the first move.

Kane finally spoke. "Tell me what you propose up front. I can't just commit myself to you without knowing what you ask."

The levity on Samuel's face disappeared, and he was once again aggressive and intimidating. "Indeed you shall, Mister Harding. That is what I expect. And should you decline, you should expect my offer to be rescinded. At which point I'd welcome you to drink every last drop of this vial, since the death it will bring you would be a blessing compared to what's in store!"

Kane stepped back once more until his back was once again pressed against the dark brick wall. Clearly, he had taken Samuel's threat seriously. "No, please!" he squirmed. "I accept your offer, Samuel. Whatever you need!"

The knight's stern face did not change. "That's better. In return, I'll compensate the life's savings that you paid for this poison, and you'll have my word that more will come."

Kane almost smiled. Relief set in, though it was hesitant. It seemed that he wanted to believe, but he was still unsure. "So what is it? What do you want me to do?"

Samuel paused. "It concerns my brother—your friend, Bram. I'll tell you more, but first I'd like to rid myself of this alleyway and move to a more comfortable location. What say you?"

Kane left the alleyway with Samuel, looking like a new man. His anxiety seemed to have been lifted, and he appeared, perhaps, even happy. Rosa continued for a while longer to witness their conversation at the inn. It explained so much: how Samuel was able to trick Kane into a quid pro quo, how he was able to accept that Bram was in trouble and needed his help, and how regaining Bram's loyalty to King Richard would somehow make both his and Kane's problems go away.

Rosa also turned the Time Tunnel forward to witness Samuel's conversation with Kane aboard the Zounds airship, while in the presence of the scrying room. That was an important turning point for Kane to renounce his friendship with Bram and be offered a new relationship with Samuel. Once again, Bram's brother was a master of manipulation, but it was not yet clear what he had in store for Kane, or why he chose to elevate him as an apprentice ahead of his other henchmen. The only certainty was that Kane believed Samuel to be trustworthy, and he was willing to fight on his side to gather the other sunstones.

Even so, a few things did not quite fit. Based on Bram's memories, Kane grew up with a strong sense of morals and judgment. The actions that led to the death of the Templar Grandmaster were certainly treasonous, but revealing knowledge under duress was not an act of maliciousness. Kane's only real crime was in wanting to live. Even suicide was a last resort, when the alternative was a brutal and humiliating death. Rosa could not blame him.

But something else bothered her—something that Samuel had said about being able to confront Bram with pride. It seemed to have a profound meaning to Kane, as if Samuel had looked inside his very soul and found a wish so personal and well-hidden that it sent Kane into a state of shock when Samuel uttered it. It was possible that one of Samuel's white wizards had created a Mind Link into Kane's Memories beforehand.

Rosa listened a second time to Samuel's conversation with Kane aboard the Zounds airship. When Samuel broke him down in front of his scrying pool, he proposed that Kane's relationship with Bram was merely superficial—a vicarious means to achieve a deeply-rooted wish. It all suggested something had happened in Kane's childhood. Somewhere along the line—perhaps, even in the beginning—Kane's friendship with Bram had become unhealthy and dependent. He looked to Bram not for support, but as an enabler to his own insecurities.

Rosa recalled Kane's personas. Honor's injury was clearly a reference to the incident at Dobb's Plain. However, the war between his personas and deviants inside his Subconscious must have begun long before that. The walls that Coping had built were taller and more elaborate than any Rosa had ever read about in her journals. The fight in Kane's psyche between good and evil had to have built up over years of intense trauma.

Rosa felt that she had no choice. She had to travel further back to find the original incident. She did not forget the dangers, of course, including the very real possibility that reliving this trauma so far in Kane's past would break his psyche and send him into a coma from which neither he nor she would ever awaken.

Even so, her larger problem was that she had run out of viable Anchor Points. She could not just turn back the clock to Kane's childhood at random. It would take an eternity to delve through the overwhelming number of memories to find the critical moment she needed. Even if she used her common connection with Bram, it would only take her only as far back as his early adult life. She never knew Bram as a child, which meant the Anchor Point in her memories was insufficient. She needed something that would take her all the way back to Bram's and Kane's childhood.

That was when it occurred to her—the photograph!

It was perfect. Not only did it contain an image of Kane and Bram as children, it also showed a specific location. Rosa had never been there herself, but that did not matter. Using a photograph to turn back the Time Tunnel was just as good as an Anchor Point. It would not take her back to the instant of Kane's trauma, but it would at least give her a chance to familiarize herself with Kane's past well enough to form new Anchor Points. And just like travelling the segments of a spider's web, she could make her way to her destination, one location at a time.

The photograph was still clenched inside her hands back in the real world, which gave her the ability to summon it and study it down to its most minute detail. She took a deep breath and put herself in a meditative state of mind. She had to will the Time Tunnel slowly … coax it carefully … urge it gently. It was like walking a tightrope. One careless move and she would tumble off the sides and be lost forever. With all her focus and mental strength, she brought Kane's memories to the time and location of the photograph.

Very quickly, the fog rushed in and swallowed her. Twenty years' worth of memories was far more chaotic than the several weeks she had traveled earlier. Such a rapid influx of scenes threatened to overwhelm her and disrupt her focus. Not only that, but she also felt the force of Kane's mind resisting her move. He did not want to relive these moments. They were painful, and he was afraid.

The weight and pressure nearly crushed her, but Rosa gathered her strength and fortitude. The Time Tunnel was a whirlwind, a chaotic ocean of remembrances. And then, at last, she arrived.

The scene was chilling. The fog was dense, and the image itself was distorted. Long ago, she had once seen a device at a fair that played back a series of photographs while giving them a sense of motion. It was called a nickelodeon, and its impression was much like this scene. Everything was in shades of black and white. Objects bore many scrapes and tears, and their features were barely discernable.

She could make out Kane and Bram frolicking along a dirt pathway. They ran as young kids often did, filled with bliss and ignorance of the world's evils. A passerby had just taken a picture of them using a makeshift camera, which was built from a cylindrical box with a pin-sized hole to let in light. Bram placed a bit of putty over the hole to seal the image. Later, he could take the box to any novice wizard, and they could recall the last image to have met the paper. Bram placed his camera box aside, ready to return to his game with Kane.

Rosa smiled. The moment was so tender, so free of danger or worry. She almost wondered if her journey was at an end. It was an innocent time, surely long before any of Kane's pivotal moments. But if it were true that the route was a dead end, Rosa's only alternative would be to start over again with Kane's connection with Samuel. Perhaps he would lead her to other useful memories.

Then again, it felt like a fruitless effort. Rosa was certain that Kane's original trauma had to do with his distant past, long before ever meeting Samuel Cortez. But she had run out of connections. There was nothing in between these innocent children and the adults they would one day become. Rosa took a deep breath, but it was hard not to let the discouragement seep in and demoralize her. She lowered her head into her hands, unsuccessful at putting her concerns aside long enough to think of what to do next.

Just as she was about to turn back, a horrific screech pierced the silence. A female voice shouted out in an unintelligible jumble of sounds; they were like words once, but the degraded state of Kane's memory had taken away their meaning. Still, they seemed to drive utter terror into the young Kane. He stopped his playing instantly and looked at Bram as if pleading for help.

Bram looked disappointed. "Do you have to go?"

Kane hesitated, looking almost paralyzed with fear. Again, the voice screeched.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, and with a wave goodbye, he quickly started down the dirt road as fast as his legs could go.

Rosa followed, lifting her dress to give her legs more room. She was intensely curious to find out the cause of the small boy's distress. She knew next to nothing about Kane's past, and this could be a critical piece. The boy was fast, but Rosa kept pace as best she could. At the bottom of the hill, the chase finally ended at a house that was in bad need of repair. It was certainly not the kind of place for a child. If Kane truly lived there, it was a sad and broken home.

No sooner had he opened the front door than an arm grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him inside. Rosa scurried to keep up.

The young Kane was in the vice-like clutches of a woman who Rosa could only describe as crazy … or perhaps feral. She wore the tattered remains of a dress that had long since turned brown and crusty. Her hair was disheveled and her skin was covered in a red rash. She was dirty and carried the awful stench of someone who did not bathe, topped with the unmistakable scent of fermented rye.

The home itself was brimful with junk and waste, and whatever floor and wall-space remained had a moldy and unsanitary appearance. Plates of decomposing food were left in the open and a washbasin in the corner was full of unwashed dishes and mugs. Flies were plentiful. Rosa took a few steps back in repugnance.

The woman—who appeared to be Kane's mother—twisted her son's arm until he collapsed on his knees in tears. Rosa cringed at the wanton abuse, but she had no power to intervene. She was watching a scene that had already happened.

The woman unleashed the back of her hand upon Kane's jaw, sending him sprawling to the ground. Rosa shuddered, her hands wrapping unconsciously around her shoulders. She tried to swallow past a knot that had formed in her throat.

"You must hate your mother, Kane!" The woman's face twisted in a sneer.

There was so much hate and anger in her voice. Rosa felt sick to her stomach. The woman was clearly intoxicated, as evidenced by her slurred speech as well as the way she swayed from side to side.

"If yer father were here, he'd beat you for what you do to me."

The child squeezed out an apology through pitiful tears. "I'm sorry …"

The woman looked regretful. She pulled a stool out from the stacks of garbage along the side of the room, knocking over a mountain of trash in the process. She seemed to have difficulty fully sitting, so she leaned against the stool as if it were a third leg.

"I'd love you more … if you weren't so spiteful! You promised to be here by high sun … but do you know what time it is? Do you know how long I waited?"

The woman started weeping, joining her son in a fit of tears. Kane just laid on the floor where she had left him, his free hand rubbing his jaw where a lump and a bruise had already formed.

"What if I needed you?" she whined, her voice like a bow dragged across violin strings. "What if I was dying and you took too long to get here?"

The anger returned and her lip quivered, as if waiting for her son's response. But Kane only sat on the floor, sobbing gently.

"Hey!"

His mother leapt off the stool and grabbed Kane by the hair. He yelped as she dragged him to his feet, pulling so hard it nearly lifted him off his feet. "I'm talking to you. You just gonna lie there and disrespect me like that?"

Rosa's anger grew. She had no tolerance for such abuse and wanted to scream in frustration. But it did not stop … it just kept on going … the woman was relentless!

"You'd like that, wouldn't you? You'd like to see your mother dead!"

She released her grip, sending Kane once more to the floor as she started rummaging through her junk. Underneath another heap of trash, she exposed the hilt of a knife. Rosa's chest constricted and she found herself biting her knuckle, wanting more than anything to intervene and put an end to this horrific scene!

The mother grabbed the hilt, exposing a long carving knife. She approached Kane, waving it threateningly.

"Stop it!" Rosa screamed. "Leave him alone!" She thought it would make her feel better to voice her mind, but it did not. It made her feel even more helpless as the scene continued in spite of her protests.

The woman knelt down and forced the hilt of the knife in Kane's hand. The boy's arm was limp. He did not resist as she squeezed his hand firmly around the hilt.

"There. You want to kill your mother, Kane, like you did your brother? Go ahead!"

Rosa had had enough! She stormed out of the house, her knees weak. She could go no more than a few steps before she collapsed on the ground in tears. Such a sick woman! Drunk or not, her abuse was beyond reproach. It was disgusting! Infuriating! Kane could not have been more than ten years old, and yet his own mother …. No wonder his personas were suffering!

But while this information gave Rosa insight into Kane's abusive past, she had no idea what to do with it. Usually, patients suffering from such acute trauma required years of therapy, just to begin the healing process. There was little Rosa could hope to accomplish in these moments before Kane would awaken. What's more, the old memories would appear like recurrent nightmares, putting him even more on edge. Rosa needed a way to connect with him, to gather some sympathy, but she was on the verge of failing tragically.

There had to be more to it. Something that she could use … she had to think! Going further back was risky, not to mention unlikely to yield anything of value. A ten year old Kane would only remember bits and pieces of his childhood, and going further back would certainly yield much less. No matter how hard she focused on finding a solution, the answer seemed to be elusive. An incredible fear crept into the back of her mind that all her endeavors were about to be wasted. She was out of time and no closer to finding what she needed!

Just then, the world of Kane's memories trembled. If Rosa did not know better, she would have suspected a quake. But it was impossible, unless Kane had actually lived through such an event.

Rosa looked around, trying to find a sign of whether the rumbling had been real, or if perhaps the stress of not finding an answer had somehow caused her to imagine it. That was when she noticed an unnatural darkness descend upon the black and white scene. It was certainly not her imagination. Nothing in her studies had ever mentioned anything like it.

Somewhere along the fringe, she felt a presence. Undertones of malice and hatred emanated all around her. She was frightened.

Over at Kane's house, a bright light shined from the upstairs window. Something was happening up there, but she was hesitant to investigate. Whatever was up there felt dangerous … and alien.

Then again, leaving would be akin to giving up. If she returned to the real world, she would have no control over what happened next. She would end up a victim of her own cowardice.

No … she could not allow that. Step by careful step, she crept toward Kane's old house. She reached for the door handle and gently pulled. Shivers ran up her spine as the creaky hinges emitted the most blood-curdling screech. She took a deep breath. There was nowhere to go except forward.

And the fog rushed in. Somehow, the Time Tunnel had restarted without her intent. Something else controlled the hand of time, and it took her further into the past. She held on tightly to the door handle as the rest of the scene rushed past her.

When it stabilized, she saw that the house had changed. It was still the same wooden structure, but this time it looked newer … less dilapidated. The inside was clean, without stacks of garbage covering the floors. But the air was thicker, and the details were darker and more obscure.

The foyer was empty; her heart was racing. She remembered the light from the upper floor. Trap or no trap, she could not back down now. There was a stairwell nearby, leading to a loft in the back of the house. Whispery voices came from the room on top. A closed wooden door was all that stood in her way. Step by step, she climbed. Never before had she felt such fear and apprehension. She opened the door slowly and peered inside.

It was a mid-sized room with a bed on one side and a bathtub on the other. The water had been drawn and a woman was giving a bath to a toddler inside. Rosa could not believe her eyes. The woman was none other than Kane's mother, but she seemed like a completely different person. Her dark hair was neatly tied back and her skin was smooth and without blemishes. She seemed sober and laid-back as she bathed the young boy in the tub.

Nearby, a younger version of Kane played with a set of wooden blocks, seemingly unaware of anything outside of his little game. Meanwhile, his mother and the toddler appeared to be in genuine harmony, full of laughs and giggles. She was not the least bit abusive to this younger child, but rather seemed tender … and loving.

The younger boy splashed some water over the edge of the tub, which earned a chuckle and playful gesture from Kane's mother.

"Looks like I had better get another towel," she announced while placing an index finger on the child's nose. The endearing little boy tittered gleefully.

But as she rose to her feet, something terrifying came over her. Her smile faded and her brows crossed. She turned to her other son and spoke in a voice that shook with anger.

"Kane … Kane!"

The boy on her side stopped with his blocks and rose to his feet, though his eyes never left the floor.

His mother scowled in disgust. "Come over here. Now!"

The little boy rushed over, his body fully trembling. Again, Rosa felt sick to her stomach, watching the transformation of a loving mother into something frightful and terrifying.

"Watch over your brother Bale while I'm gone. And don't take your eyes off him!"

Kane nodded, his head bobbing up and down as his arms were held stiffly to his sides.

Rosa was outraged. It seemed impossible that this woman would go from being kind and gentle to one child, only to transform into a malicious monster to the other. Kane was too young to deserve such resentment, especially from his own mother! No action or mistake could ever have warranted it. Something else had to be at play.

Rosa was interrupted from her thoughts by another shaking of the room. It was certainly not a quake. No objects were affected, and Kane definitely did not seem to notice.

He just stared at his little brother in the tub … stared with empty eyes that were emotionless voids. The air in the room was stifling! The dark presence emanated from the walls and floors. Shivers ran down her spine. Something terrible was happening.

As she watched, the young Kane gently placed his hands upon his brother Bale's shoulders. He applied slow and deliberate pressure, which sent the child sliding slowly down the side of the tub. Rosa ran forward, her heart caught in her throat as she watched Bale's head dip underwater. She screamed, reaching out with a hand that passed right through Kane's poor younger brother.

Bale struggled; his arms thrashed violently. More water sloshed from the tub, spilling in waves across the oak floor. But each wave was smaller than the last. Rosa could only listen to the splash-splash-splash of the water… until it stopped. And Bale lay still.

Rosa took a few steps back. "No …" she breathed, shaking her head in pure disbelief.

Kane's mother returned, towel in hand. Her voice trembled with fear. "Kane, what are you doing?"

As if suspecting the worst, she dropped the towel and ran to the tub. "No!" she cried, sinking to her knees.

She grabbed the little corpse from the water, caressing it in her arms. In vain, she tried slapping the sides of its cheeks.

"Murderer …" she spewed through a crooked mouth. "Murderer!"

She dropped Bale's body back into the tub and ran to Kane with arms raised. Without hesitation, she beat him with all her might.

Rosa could not bear to watch. She fled down the stairs, wanting more than anything to hide from this vicious nightmare. But as she ran, a dark black smoke oozed from the walls. It was the culmination of everything evil, full of malice and hatred, and it followed her down into the darkness. Somehow, Rosa knew it would smother the life right out of her if it reached her. So she ran down a never-ending stairwell … rows and rows of stairs that did not exist in the home that she had originally entered. She screamed.

At last, a landing! She leapt down the last few steps as the black smoke closed in. Leaving no room for hesitation, she dashed across the dark empty chamber that nearly resembled the foyer from before. But at the end of this entryway was a blank wall where the door to the outside had once been. Rosa ran up to it, banging her fists against the plaster. She was desperate to escape the malevolent darkness that was just about to reach her!

Just then, a hand reached out from the nothingness and took her by the wrist. Before she knew what was going on, it pulled her right through the wall and into a bright light. She found herself on her knees, cowering in fear, blinded by her own tears ….

"Don't worry," a gentle voice told her. "You're safe. For now."

Rosa slowly opened her eyes. She had somehow returned to the white world of the Subconscious, and Coping was standing right over her.

She stood up wanting to profess her thanks, but she was still choked up from the experience. "You … you saved my life."

"I had to pull you out," the persona stated, matter-of-fact. "You had delved too deeply and were putting too much stress on the psyche. If I hadn't intervened …."

"It wasn't my fault!" Rosa tried to explain. "Something else was in there with me. Something … evil!"

Coping looked at her with eyes that seemed to contain untold wisdom. Something was different about him. He seemed … even more human than before.

"I believe you," he said after a moment of hesitation. "But it doesn't matter. It's already too late."

Rosa saw the sadness and regret in his eyes. "What do you mean?"

Coping took a deep breath. When he let it out, his head sagged and shoulders slumped. "The others came, just like you said. They destroyed the compound … I had no choice …."

He never completed his sentence. Rosa had to know. "What did you do?"

"I absorbed the remaining personas. It's just me now."

Rosa's eyes went wide. She had never heard of such a thing. "What does that mean?"

Coping shrugged. "I alone control the Will of this World. I alone keep it alive. But not for much longer."

Rosa wondered what he meant. Did Coping somehow combine all the personas into a single consciousness that had the qualities of each of them? If so, he was the closest thing to Kane other than speaking to the man himself.

"Tell me, Coping," Rosa pressed. "What does this world need in order to return to stability? What can I do to help?"

Coping shook his head. "You can't."

"Never say that!" Rosa insisted. "I'm not walking away from you. I told you I would help and I meant it. Tell me how to defeat the deviants and return this World to normal."

Coping sighed. "No. The deviants have also combined forces, creating four of the most powerful this world has ever seen. Rage, Hatred, Vengeance, and—"

"And me," a voice called out from behind.

Rosa spun around to see four deviants atop armored horses. She recognized the one who spoke. Her fists balled up at the sight of him.

"So glad to see you again, Beautiful. What I wouldn't do to be alone with you again …."

"Stand down, Desire," another one commanded. "We must find the one who damaged the psyche and make sure they pay for what they've done!"

"What do we do with the girl?" another deviant posed, his voice nearly shaking in anger. "We should destroy her. There's no telling what harm she's already caused!"

"Let's not be too hasty, Rage," the fourth one cautioned. "This one certainly deserves all the pain and suffering you have to unleash. I'll help fuel it for you, too. But first, I want to find out what she knows."

Coping turned to her. "You can't win this fight. I'm sorry, Rosa. I'm sorry about everything. But you have to go."

Rosa's heart was crushed. The words from Kane's only remaining persona could have only originated from his own heart. She did not want to run away, but without her magic she was defenseless against these four powerful deviants. Coping was already backing off. He knew when to disengage from an unwinnable fight, and she had to follow.

There was only one option remaining. Rosa evoked the word that would make everything go away, regretting that she could not have done more.

"Kane."

All at once, the white world disappeared.


	15. Chapter 8, Part XIV

**.**

* * *

 **Part XIV**

 _After Midnight of Quartus, Second Day of Duskmoon_

* * *

Allura sent word to the other clerics the moment Józef Brandt regained consciousness. Isaac had taken longer than expected to finish his surgery, but now the Kitezhian heir rested peacefully within a private chamber located on the upper floor of the east wing of the Nexus.

The poor boy had been given a full body reconstruction using fine-grained streams of magic that broke down and rebuilt his frostbitten flesh. It removed all but the lowest layer of skin, which meant most of his body had to be wrapped in ghostly white gauze to protect it from infection. Extra attention went toward healing his facial tissue. The only scarring that remained was in the form of rosy blemishes that crested above his nose and cheekbones.

He lay upon crisp white linens tinted blue by incoming moonlight, which drifted in through wide-framed windows on the opposite side of the room. Flickering candles from mounted brass sconces on either side of the bed's headboard splashed amber across the cobalt-infused sheets.

Allura wished she could have informed the young king of her plan beforehand. She had immense respect for his late father, and it would have been the proper thing to do. Unfortunately, she never had a chance. The other clerics would not have allowed her to send Bram Morrison after King Arcesilaus had it not been for her clever deception—a decision she made when young King Brandt had still been unconscious.

So she went ahead without his knowledge, using a plan involving the Paradox Lute. The two halves of this instrument were magically entangled, giving it some rather special properties. She had gifted one half to Angkor's former Grand Craftsman, while the other remained behind with the boy-king. While she had correctly explained to Mister Curtis that the power of the heirloom could transfer music played from one side to the other, her explanation barely scratched the surface of the relic's true power.

In fact, the Paradox Lute had the ability to replicate magic—even if one end happened to be inside of an anti-magic field. Allura intended to use this unique property to establish a communications portal through which she could discreetly monitor Bram's progress. Without this failsafe, the other clerics would never have agreed to trust a former Gnostic Knight.

In order to operate correctly, the lute required a seasoned musician on at least one end. Unfortunately, few people in Vineta were experienced in string instruments, preferring instead to specialize in the wind or drum variety. On short notice, the only maven to exist within leagues of the city was Allura's frostbitten patient. Of course, the clerics had vehemently opposed to the idea of depending on a boy who had arrived with such horrifying and crippling injuries, but Allura had convinced them to put their faith in Isaac's healing.

In truth, it had been a tough sell. Several of her more outspoken critics argued that the retrieval of the Capricorn Stone should have been left to the Protectors. They objected to sending a man who had ostensibly been blessed by a Gaian oracle that no one from the western world had ever been able to prove actually existed. However, Allura defended her position by citing the potential political damage if all eight clerics stormed into the Elfen capital by force. And that also assumed they could make it past Arcesilaus' anti-magic field.

Her strongest opponent was the eldest cleric, named Jeremiah. He had a long history of getting his own way, including a feisty attitude that played well with the rest of his male-dominated Circle. While Jeremiah was careful not to portray himself as overtly sexist, he had once famously referred to the One Voice as "window dressing"—a beautiful face whose only purpose was to bolster the clerics' relationship with the outside world. In line with that philosophy, he tended to delegate all the most important jobs to his male allies while leaving Allura with the most menial of tasks.

But not this time. She had waited ages for the chance to have a leadership role in a high-stakes crisis. Success meant that she would finally gain the respect from her peers that she had long deserved. Isaac, her long-time friend and partner, had agreed to help her. If her plan was still on track, she suspected the lute would reveal Bram Morrison well on his way toward retrieving the sunstone. And if he still needed a bit of help, she and her clerics would be ready.

Of course, the moment Jeremiah arrived, she sensed that something was amiss. She bit her lower lip when she saw him trailed by two of his closest allies, while the remaining three clerics were nowhere to be seen. This limited attendance would put the balance of power squarely in his favor, potentially making it easy for him to wrest control from her and Isaac's capable hands. She wondered if Jeremiah might have had something to do with the missing clerics' absences.

He greeted her with a smirk and a chuckle. "I see you've left your glorious hair behind, Allura."

Her hand went absently up to her head. She had indeed gone without one of her prouder accessories, but that was beside the point. She wore a plain black wig with little body, and length down to her shoulders, which she felt was more appropriate. But it did not bode well that Jeremiah was already willing to instigate—and she was not going to let him change the subject about the missing clerics.

"Nice to see you, too, Jeremiah. Where are the others?"

He met her gaze, but she could tell right away that he was lying. "They're in the midst of gathering some important data on their latest research project."

She frowned, while his eyebrows went up disingenuously. "Alas, they send their apologies. Although, I've volunteered to represent them, so we might as well get started."

Allura repressed her frustration. She had to remember—despite the elder cleric's deviousness and chauvinism, or the toady behavior of his associates—all three men were venerable white wizards with over one and a half centuries of combined experience. If Bram needed her help, she would need everyone's skills to get back the sunstone. She only hoped for her sake that Bram would pull through on his own.

Allura put on her best smile, part of an act that she had mastered over the years. If done correctly, she could influence the men around her and maintain at least some level of control. But act too firm—or not firm enough—and her opponents would pounce on the opportunity to assert themselves. She spoke in a low but welcoming voice, mindful of Józef's resting.

"Well then, Jeremiah, I thank you for coming on short notice."

The elder wizard skipped over commensurate pleasantries. Instead, he tromped over to Józef's bedside and pointed to the sleeping heir. "What's he still doing asleep? I thought you said he was lucid."

"He's resting," Allura asserted, "and I'll remind you that he's heir to the Kitezhian throne and deserves more respect. As for your question, Isaac gave him a mild sedative a few minutes ago. We wanted to allow him more time to rest, since we didn't know when you'd arrive."

"Well, wake him up," Jeremiah ordered, his tone patronizing. "We're already behind schedule."

Allura's lips tightened as she pushed the anger deep inside of her. It was not worth getting upset—not yet, anyway. Instead, she turned to Isaac and gave him a quick nod. Recognizing the gesture, he readied a syringe and injected it into Józef's arm.

"Go easy on him," the mild-mannered cleric pleaded. "He was quite agitated when he first regained consciousness, and we don't want to add stress so soon after surgery."

Allura cringed. Isaac should have been more careful about revealing Józef's earlier episode. Now it was too late to backpedal.

"What did you mean by that?" Jeremiah demanded. "Is there something wrong with him?"

Allura thought back to Józef's first few minutes of consciousness. Almost as soon as he took in his surroundings, he had started raving about how his life was in danger. He even claimed that Kitezh's surrogate king was trying to kill him. Allura was of course very troubled by this, but before she took action, she had to be sure it was more than just delirium brought on from his traumatic experiences at sea.

In order to calm him down and get him to speak more rationally, she had offered to write a note detailing his concerns. While the heir dictated, she transcribed a number of words that would have sounded like gibberish to anyone else. However, she was smart enough to realize that it was code, likely meant for one of his trusted advisors back in Kitezh. Judging from the young king's tone of sanity and conviction, she believed what he said to be true.

Even so, getting to the bottom of it would need to wait for another day, and she did not want it to distract from her mission. Her immediate concern was how to retract Isaac's comment before it created any doubts.

"It was nothing." She kept her tone carefree and nonchalant. "Patients often find themselves in discomfort after complex surgeries. But I'm confident in Isaac's work, and I know King Brandt will be able to help us tonight. Isn't that right, Isaac?"

The slender surgeon nodded meekly. "Yes, madam. There's certainly nothing to worry about, but if Simon would like to perform a quick diagnostic, I'm sure it would put everyone's minds at ease."

The response was quite clever. Simon was the cleric on Jeremiah's left. He had a thick mustache and an under-bite giving him a bit of a lopsided face, but he was also one of the leading specialists in mental healthcare. Of course, Allura knew there was nothing wrong with Józef from a psychological perspective, but asking Simon to check would deflect attention from Isaac's previous statement. She was rather impressed to see her cohort capable of repurposing Jeremiah's scrutiny.

Sure enough, the elder cleric could not resist taking the bait. He nodded to Simon, who cleared his throat and began his series of incantations. A flurry of blue sparks flew from his fingertips and settled onto Józef's body. After a few moments, the cleric opened his eyes and announced his findings.

"I don't detect any abnormalities. As soon as King Brandt wakes, I expect him to be calm and coherent."

Jeremiah folded his arms. He looked skeptical, but he had no evidence to use to his advantage. Allura was happy watching him stew.

"Humph," he grumbled. "Let's just get on with it. Is everyone ready?"

Allura was pleased to be back on track. "Isaac, please unwrap the gauze around King Brandt's hands."

She held her breath as the thin white filaments came off, knowing what the clerics would find underneath. A unified gasp sucked the air out of the room as Isaac exposed the heir's raw pink flesh. The fingers were all there, but the skin looked brand new—like a newborn's—while many of the tips were missing.

"What's this?" Jeremiah's voice was easily an octave higher. "How do you expect him to play with these hands?"

"Jeremiah, please!" Allura knew the fingers were unsightly, but she also knew that Józef was a good enough musician to compensate. "Don't let King Brandt hear you speaking like that when he wakes! Isaac did the best he could … and we both believe it will be enough."

"You're a fool, Allura!" Jeremiah scolded. "We're talking about the Paradox Lute here! It needs a flawless performance just to function. I knew we shouldn't have listened to you!"

"We should be mindful of rebuking our fellow clerics." Isaac's voice was calm and full of reason, and his willingness to stand up to Jeremiah warmed Allura's heart.

"We all knew the risks going into this," she added. "And besides … King Brandt was in rough shape when he arrived on our operating table. He was covered in burns, especially on his hands and feet. Based on what we had to remove, he may not be able to walk again without a limp. Even so, we put extra effort into his hands. He'll surely be able to play—"

"I don't mean to sound callous," Jeremiah interrupted, "but I don't care about his feet. Not at the moment. I'll remind everyone why we're here tonight. It's because the safety of the world depends on us. Our Capricorn Stone is in the hands of a powerful thief, and our best shot of getting it back is to rely on a band of former thieves! I shouldn't need to lecture you on these risks."

Jeremiah's glare jumped from one man to the next before landing on Allura. She certainly did not need to be lectured by the likes of him. She already knew full well the risk she was taking by relying on Bram Morrison.

Jeremiah continued his rant. "Needless to say, our attention in this matter is long overdue. By now, Mister Morrison has surely made it into Arcesilaus' fortress. Assuming he's still alive and close enough to the other half of this lute, we should be able to find out if the sunstone is still intact. As far as I'm concerned, that's all that matters right now. Does everyone else agree? Now's the time to say otherwise."

Allura sighed, her nerves almost at the breaking point. "Of course we all agree. There's no need to be so melodramatic. Now let's compose ourselves. The last thing we want is to send our patient into a panic attack."

She received nods of consent from Jeremiah's two associates, but the elder cleric was still reluctant. His harsh glare finally broke the moment Józef stirred.

Allura rushed to his side. "Józef, darling," she coaxed in a motherly tone. "It's me … your friend, Allura."

The boy's eyes fluttered and he took a deep breath that ended in a grunt. "Lady Allura? Where am I?"

She leaned close, stroking the wispy strands of blond hair poking out from the edges of the gauze. "You're in a hospital room, my dear. Do you remember speaking with me earlier?"

He blinked a few times, taking in the sights all around him. Slowly, the appearance of recognition dawned. He smiled, and Allura's heart melted. In spite of all his suffering, he still looked like the boy she remembered from his youth.

"Of course I do, my Lady. And Doctor Isaac, too. But I don't know these other men."

"Yes, of course." She gestured to the three clerics. "I'd like to introduce you to my colleagues. This is Jeremiah, and the two by his side are Jacob and Simon."

"I am pleased to meet you," he offered in a stately voice. "I would shake your hand, sirs, but …" he looked at the remains of his fingers and held them up to Jeremiah, "as you can see, I have been a … a victim of frostbite."

The young king's words were bitter. Allura empathized, but she was conscious of how the other clerics would perceive it. So she stepped in before Jeremiah could respond.

"We know how awful this must be for you, my dear. However, you should know that we've come here tonight not just as concerned friends, but also because we're in great need of your assistance."

Józef's eyes opened wide. "You need my help?"

Allura was ready to work her charm. "I know it might seem hard to believe, but you possess an essential talent that we are in great need of tonight. Our time is short, so I'll be brief. It concerns our sacred artifact, the Capricorn Stone, which was recently stolen from our temple—"

The words appeared to have awakened something terrifying in the young king. He gasped and shimmied up to a sitting position. "You mean Angkor? Did they take the sunstone?"

Allura shook her head and tried to calm the frantic boy by nestling close to him on the bed. "No, my dear. Much has happened over the last week. Your nation of Kitezh staged an attack on Angkor's capital—and you were victorious! King Richard has fallen, but other dangers still remain. A few days ago, we were contacted by the Grigori Knight, Abraham Morrison—"

"What? Bram was here? Wait … Grigori Knight—?"

"My boy, if you'll please just listen …." Jeremiah stepped in front, nearly elbowing Allura out of the way. She was furious, but she clenched her teeth and took a few steps back to give him room. Regardless of his rudeness, it was not worth getting in his way.

"We're here tonight because our Capricorn Stone was stolen by our neighbor, King Arcesilaus."

Józef gasped. "But why? Why would Arcesilaus have done that?"

Jeremiah grunted. "It doesn't matter. The important part is that Abraham Morrison offered to recover it for us. We're here tonight to help him through an artifact known as the Paradox Lute. It's an enchanted instrument that requires a talented musician, which is why we've come to you. We need to know whether—in your current state—you'll be able to play it for us."

Józef took a deep breath. "May I see the music?"

Jeremiah looked over his shoulder. "Jacob …?"

The second of Jeremiah's clerics—a balding gentleman with bushy eyebrows—removed the sheet music from a breast pocket. He handed it to Józef, who studied it for a few moments before tossing the sheets to the foot of his bed.

He practically choked as he spoke the words. "I might have been able to play this at one time, but … without the full use of my hands, I am afraid it is far too difficult."

Jeremiah turned toward Allura, glaring with acrimony.

She had to step in. "Józef … please don't be discouraged." She placed herself in front of Jeremiah and laid her hands on the young king's shoulders like a soothing mother. "I know it won't be easy, but you're our only hope. Please try."

Józef looked grim, and for a moment Allura worried that he might actually give up. The poor boy had come so close to losing his life, and now he was surely dreading the possibility of losing his most precious pastime. Many other patients in his position ended up succumbing to depression, but such would be a disaster for the Kitezhian people, who had already suffered so much—let alone Allura's own heartbreak at seeing it happen to the son of a such dear friend.

Józef was so much like his father. Probably more so than Allura had given him credit, since the response from the young king surprised her.

His face was rigid with resolve. "I will try." He threw the covers off his body and swung his legs over the side of the bed. "Hand me the lute."

It seemed like the brave and courageous Henrich Brandt now sat in his son's place. Allura could not have been prouder. She took the artifact from the foot of the bed and placed it in the Józef's arms. He cradled it lovingly, rubbing his hand along the dark mahogany and rosewood surfaces.

Isaac picked up a chair from the side of the room and placed it near Józef. The young king grabbed onto the bedpost as he tried to stand, cringing as his bare feet touched the cold marble floor. Isaac stretched out his hand for support, but the determined king shrugged it off.

With wobbly knees, Józef moved slowly and deliberately toward the chair. When he finally sat, he laid out the sheet music along the surface of his bed. He took another deep breath and began playing. There were a few false starts, but he quickly recovered. Soon, the notes commenced without interruption.

It had been ages since Allura had heard the sweet melody of the Paradox Lute. Its delicate tune brought sheer joy to her ears, and her senses soon picked up the spark of magic in the air.

Jeremiah wasted no time. He cast his spell into the lute, causing a bright strand of energy to appear above Józef's bed. Flashes and crackles of light reverberated off the walls as the strand slowly opened to form a magical portal. Unfortunately, there was very little to see on other side. Allura approached and gazed within.

It appeared to be nothing more than a dusty storage room. The other half of the Paradox Lute lay in the center of the image, nestled in between various chests and trunks. Along the sides were shelves stocked with supplies and nonperishables.

"What are we supposed to be looking at?" Simon complained. "Where are the knight and his two companions?"

"Look," Isaac pointed. "There … to the left."

Allura gasped. "Those are their belongings!"

Sure enough, a set of silver Grigori armor lay in pieces next to a bolt of white cloth, from which the hilt of Bram's sword was exposed. Matthias' staff also lay neatly along one of the shelves.

"Do you suppose something happened to them?" Jacob posited. "They would not have left behind such precious items."

Jeremiah grunted as he stared intently at the portal. "We have the power of the lute. Let's find out."

* * *

~...~

* * *

Matthias paced the floor. He was nervous beyond measure. Things had gone horribly wrong. A commotion at Arcesilaus' banquet had erupted when Bram inadvertently revealed his plan to betray the Elfen king and use the sunstone for his own purposes. Sure, the knight had likely been drugged to reveal the truth, just as Matthias and Cedric had been given a sleeping agent. Even so, it had surely ruined any chance of reasoning with the Elfen king.

The old wizard wished he could have remembered what happened next, but the sleeping agent had knocked him out cold. By the time he regained consciousness, he was lying next to Cedric in a small guest chamber, and Bram was nowhere to be found. Meanwhile, the room's only door was locked. When the gray wizard leaned close, he heard the footsteps of patrolling sentries, making it clear that Arcesilaus had them under lockdown. As for the anti-magic field, it was still in full effect, leaving Matthias without a means of escape.

The gray wizard wracked his brain, searching for answers to explain what had happened. On one hand, Arcesilaus had gone out of his way—supposedly based on his own prophesy—to enlist the help of strangers to stop an insurgency of cursed humans who had supposedly infiltrated the Circle of Eight. Of course, that made the Elfen king's change of heart so sudden an unexpected. Rather than work with Bram to reconcile their differences, Arcesilaus turned hostile. And now the chance of using the Capricorn Stone to go after Samuel Cortez was rapidly diminishing.

Matthias cursed. He had certainly come to Garda with the intention of distrusting the Elfen king. But the peaceful exchange during dinner gave him pause. Arcesilaus had come forward with a plausible defense and some well-reasoned explanations. The empty Capricorn Stone was proof enough that there was at least some merit in his claims. Even so, other parts did not add up. Either he had staged the entire evening as a farce to lull his guests into a false sense of security … or perhaps Bram had truly offended him.

Matthias gritted his teeth, wondering once again if Arcesilaus might be in league with Samuel Cortez. Perhaps it was part of some plan to trick Bram into giving up the Pisces Stone that he had gained from King Richard. Unfortunately, that idea made no sense, either. It would have been far easier for Samuel to take the Pisces Stone from Bram directly, rather than involve Arcesilaus and the clerics.

The other possibility was that Arcesilaus had lied for his own reasons. He claimed that the demon known as Lord Zagan now roamed the world free of its sunstone prison. But if Abaddon was any indication, the Ahrimen tended to leave trails of chaos and ruin in their wake. True, the existence of spawn was potentially an indirect sign of Lord Zagan's curses, but there could have been other explanations.

To Matthias, it was an unsolvable puzzle—and the aches behind his temples reminded him that he had been pondering over it for far too long. He stomped his foot in frustration, an act that soon evoked an unsolicited comment from his companion.

"Now, now, Master Deleuze. You mustn't take your frustration out on the poor floor."

The old wizard's brooding now had a new target—an ex-craftsman who rested far too lazily upon one of the room's feather mattresses. The mere thought of Cedric's insouciant attitude sent streams of liquid fire through the old wizard's veins.

"Are you just going to lie there?" he seethed. "How about contributing a little bit? Or aren't you concerned about what they'll do to us once they've finished questioning Bram?"

Cedric shrugged. "It's not that I'm unconcerned. I just think that—over the past few weeks—I've been through a lot worse."

Matthias sneered. "So that's it, then? You're just going to take a nap and hope for the best?"

Cedric scoffed. "What do you want me to do? Pace the floor like a madman? Perhaps help you wear a hole through the carpet until we tunnel our way to safety?"

Matthias wrinkled his nose. "Yeah, you're the clever one, aren't ya? Too bad you haven't done much with it so far. It's a waste of brainpower, if you ask me!"

That seemed to do the trick. Cedric rolled over from his supine position, now looking a lot more engaged. Matthias was rather proud of his ability to rear his partners into action.

"Don't look at me. You're the one who's supposed to be the wizard around here!"

Matthias was quick to snap back. "Don't play dumb. You should know by now that my powers are useless inside this blasted field!"

Cedric folded his arms smugly, like an amateur at chess putting his opponent in check for the first time. "Precisely my point. There's not much we can do. So we might as well sit tight and wait for Bram to come back."

The craftsman's nonchalance really burned Matthias' beard. "And what makes you think he's coming back? He could be in deep trouble right now, wasting away in some dungeon. That is, of course, if Arcesilaus hasn't lied to us from the beginning! Who knows, maybe all this talk about sunstones and cursed humans is nonsense, and he really is working for the enemy."

Cedric huffed. "Maybe he is. Then again, if Arcesilaus had meant us harm, he could have done far worse than lock us in this room after treating us to a bountiful supper."

Matthias squared off against his opponent. "So … you think it's all just a misunderstanding, huh? You think he drugged our wine goblets just to test us and make sure we were trustworthy?"

"And why not?" Cedric pressed. "He had the advantage over us all day long. He could have thrown us in a dingy dungeon, or tortured us for information. Instead, we dined on venison and roast gosling! And our punishment for dishonesty is this luxurious room in the king's guest quarters. Is that consistent with your image of Arcesilaus?"

Matthias cursed. "I don't know. But something doesn't feel right. Just look at how empty the town looked on our way here, or the sparseness of his castle. There were no administrators, no staff, and no generals—just his closest servants and the blasted Lord Captain!"

Cedric looked like he was searching for the right response. "Well … don't forget that the Elflands is a small country. Maybe you've been to Garda before, but I haven't. I had just assumed it was always like this. Surely you've heard the stories about how the Elfen people prefer to live private and secluded lives."

Matthias shook his head. Cedric was being obstinate. "All I know is we wouldn't be in this mess if it weren't for Bram."

Cedric emitted a high pitched note. "I don't see how you can blame him. I think he was drugged, just like the rest of us. All I know is that Bram has been a good leader up until this point."

"Has he?" Matthias challenged. "I think Bram has been making mistakes ever since he agreed to bargain with that damned Templar!"

Cedric scowled. "You shouldn't be giving him a hard time about that. He had to agree to Mister Harding's terms, or else Rosa's life would have been in danger!"

"All right! I'll admit to the benefit of humoring Mister Harding to buy time, but if Bram had any guts, he'd have partnered with the clerics instead of lying to them."

"No, no, no … the clerics could have refused! Bram needed to keep our plans secret in order to earn their blessings to go after Arcesilaus. Without them, we wouldn't have made it this far."

Matthias did not know what bothered him more: Bram being oblivious to his own faults, or Cedric attempting to cover them up.

"And how far is that?" he argued. "We're trapped inside this … this bedroom! And when the clerics find out that we had intended to betray them all along, they won't be as kind as King Arcesilaus! They'd lock us in the deepest, darkest … what the …?"

Matthias lost his train of thought as a swirling mass of sparks appeared high above the corner of the room.

Cedric's eyes widened as he stared at the spectacle. "What in the Goddess' name is that?" he sputtered.

Matthias recognized it right away. He knew a magical portal when he saw one, and it no doubt belonged to the last people on Gaia that he would have wanted eavesdropping on his conversation. Sure enough, the portal slowly opened to reveal a room full of angry onlookers.

He sighed. "Well I'll be damned. If it isn't my old friend, Jeremiah. How much did you overhear?"

"Enough!" the elder cleric snapped. "You're a disgrace, Mister Deleuze!"

Matthias rolled his eyes. "As usual, you weren't around, and you don't understand the whole story!"

"Oh, did I somehow misinterpret?" Matthias cringed at Jeremiah's sarcasm. "I believe you said, 'When the clerics find out that we had intended to betray them all along ….' You've sealed your fate this time, Deleuze! And I won't let you get away with it! I've prepared a little gift … just for the two of you."

The elder cleric cast a spell through the portal.

Cedric looked down at his body as if expecting to be turned into a duck. "What did you do to us?"

"Just a little insurance," Jeremiah explained. "The moment either of you touch the Capricorn Stone, you'll be transported back to Kish. That way, we'll make sure we get our sunstone back."

Matthias regarded the cleric wryly. "And I suppose you want us to believe that you were able to cast magic, even though we're inside an anti-magic field?"

Jeremiah exposed a toothy grin. "Hoho, I am indeed casting magic, you old fool. And technically, I'm not inside the field!"

Matthias understood and uttered a curse under his breath. "Of course … how could I have been so stupid … you're using the Paradox Lute to cast spells from your side of the field, aren't you? Allura! This was your idea, wasn't it?"

The Once Voice stepped forward. "I'm so sorry to have deceived you, Matthias."

The old wizard scoffed. "I'll bet …."

"Our precautions were obviously well-reasoned," came another unwanted opinion. Jacob was the name of the bald-headed man, if Matthias recalled correctly. "You've certainly shown your true colors, Master Deleuze."

"Yeah, I got it," the gray wizard grumbled. "But if you want to blame the right person, you're too late. Bram's not here. We think Arcesilaus has him."

"Well, then." Jeremiah stroked his long beard. He almost looked like he was enjoying himself. "Perhaps you ought to start from the beginning. Tell us what happened since you left Kish."

Matthias actually thought it might do some good to bring the clerics up to speed. In the meantime, he could watch their expressions as he revealed the Elfen king's theories. By speaking about empty sunstones and cursed humans, perhaps he could identify if anyone in the room had something to hide.

Unfortunately, the reactions were all uniform sets of shock and outrage.

"Cursed humans?" Jeremiah repeated. "That's ridiculous! Are you sure you didn't misunderstand?"

"What?" Matthias laughed. "You think Arcesilaus might have stuttered and we both misheard him? No, he was quite clear about who he believed had infiltrated the Circle of Eight."

"We've had enough of your backtalk, Monsieur." This particular threat came from the cleric on Jeremiah's other side, the mustache-man with the under-bite.

"Simon, please!" Allura pleaded, giving a name to the uncomely fellow. "This is a very serious accusation! If we start doubting our own loyalties, it could very well finish us!"

"Allura, you don't know what you're talking about," Jeremiah rudely chided. "Lord Zagan hasn't escaped from the Capricorn Stone. Arcesilaus is a liar. First he steals our sunstone, and now he's come up with some wild stories to cover his tracks. Isn't it obvious?"

"It's not obvious to me," Allura asserted. "I think what Arcesilaus revealed raises some serious questions. I don't want a witch-hunt any more than you do, but if it's true that Lord Zagan has escaped—or that cursed humans walk among us—we must do everything possible to get to the bottom of it!"

Jeremiah looked like he was quickly losing patience. "Don't you see what you're doing, Allura? You're playing into their delusion! I tell you—it's just a trick!"

"I think so, too," Jacob chimed in, followed by a nod from Simon. "We've already caught these men red-handed. They'll say anything to avoid punishment."

Matthias felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck. "How dare you! Do you have any idea the danger I've put myself in for your benefit?"

"Gentlemen, please!" Allura's tone had turned cross. "Whether Lord Zagan has escaped or not, it sounds like Arcesilaus might be questioning Mister Morrison as we speak, which means he'll have access to the Pisces Stone very soon, if he hasn't gained it already. So the threat is sure to get worse the longer we bicker! Our first objective must be to get Master Deleuze and Mister Curtis outside of their room. Once we have some visibility, we'll need to find Mister Morrison before it's too late."

"And how do you expect to do that?" Matthias questioned. "They've taken our belongings and we're defenseless against the Elfen sentry guard."

"I believe I can help," Allura promised. "We'll start with your belongings. Józef, please switch to A-minor. Józef …? Józef!"

Matthias watched as the magical portal flickered. As it disappeared, it almost sounded as if Allura had referenced King Brandt.

Matthias and Cedric exchanged nervous glances.

* * *

~...~

* * *

Isaac sprang into action the moment Józef doubled over. The young king had stopped playing and was slumped over the arm of his chair. He was covered in sweat; thin red ribbons ran from the stubs of his fingers.

"Isaac, do something!" the One Voice shrieked.

The gentle cleric brought the heir up to a sitting position while voicing the words of a spell. He breathed a sigh of relief. "He'll be okay."

Simon and Jacob both wore concerned expressions. "What happened?" they demanded in unison.

The gentle cleric lifted Józef off the chair and returned him to his bed. Isaac might have been a soft-spoken man, but that did not mean he was any less irked that the rest of his crew was so oblivious. If only they could put their egos aside from time to time to see their patients as he did, they would not need to ask. In fact, a little empathy now and then would do them well.

"Józef did everything we asked of him. The problem was that we asked too much. You know our policies for patients recovering from epidermal reconstruction—especially when it comes to exerting themselves so soon after surgery. I think we pushed him too hard, ignoring the signs of pain and lightheadedness. After so much strain, he simply passed out."

By now, Allura had her arms wrapped around the young king and was stroking the blond curls of his hair that peeked out from the sides of his gauze. Her lips moved with the words of magic, and the wounds on his fingertips closed. Soon, he returned to breathing peacefully. Isaac had long felt that Allura would have made a fine mother. It was sad to see her give up that kind of life because her dreams had required it.

"Did he … lose any blood?" The One Voice sounded choked up. Clearly, Józef's condition greatly troubled her.

"Not too much," Isaac affirmed. "The skin is just brand new and needs time to fully heal. But from what I can tell, it looks like you did a fine job patching him up again."

A gruff voice came from behind. "I don't mean to sound heartless …." For Jeremiah, perhaps it was difficult to sound any other way. "But, will he be able to keep on playing? We still need him."

"He'll be fine," Isaac assured. "All he needs is a bit of food in his stomach. Hold on. I think we have a jar of Vinetan cocoa in the storeroom on this floor. I'll go grab some."

As soon as Isaac left the king's private room, he allowed himself to feel the fear and concern that he had so far tried pushing aside. Things were not going so well for him and Allura.

That was not her real name, of course. The clerics all knew that "Allura" was a disguise … an act. Some people believed she did it to maintain relevance as she aged, while others believed it was a requirement set forth by Jeremiah. For some reason, Vinetans seemed to worry about decisions made by women—especially older women.

But they were all wrong. Allura's real name was Madeline, and Isaac had worked with her for a very long time. He understood her and realized that Allura was just a mechanism for coping with a world that was inherently unfair. Madeline wore her disguise like a shield, so that the insults and rudeness from the other clerics would not harm her.

More than that, Allura was a symbol of everything Madeline wanted—beauty, power, respect … things that, sadly, she believed were unachievable. Isaac wished he could reach out and explain otherwise. But he was a coward. At least he was aware of that as one of his faults. Sure, a bit of backbone poked out every now then, but never when he truly needed it.

Before Isaac knew it, he had reached the nearby storage closet and retrieved the jar of Vineta's favorite delectable. Other doctors questioned its medicinal properties, but Isaac had seen the look of joy on enough patients to know that there was something magical about cocoa that wizards just did not understand. Of course, it tended to help with low blood-sugar levels, too.

By the time Isaac returned, Józef was just starting to wake. The young king used the sleeve of his hospital gown to wipe away the beads of sweat that ran across his brow.

"What happened …?"

Allura looked ready to burst with relief. "Nothing to fear, my dear. You just passed out from all the strain."

The heir took a deep breath. "What about Master Deleuze? And the craftsman."

Jeremiah stepped forward. "Messieurs Deleuze and Curtis still need you, my boy. Are you ready to continue playing?"

Allura gave an audible huff. "Not so fast, Jeremiah. Give His Majesty a moment to rest!"

"It's all right, Lady Allura." The young king tried to shimmy back to a sitting position. "I want to keep going. I was able to overhear everything, and I know how important this is."

Isaac was impressed, but no one looked more joyful than Allura. The boy's own mother could not have been more proud. Meanwhile, Isaac opened his jar.

"Here, have a bit of this, first."

Józef's eyes brightened. "Is that Vinetan cocoa?"

Isaac smiled. "You bet it is." No matter how many times he had seen it before, the miracle of cocoa still inspired him.

Józef took a few bites, looking momentarily blissful and unaware of his injuries.

"There," the surgeon-cleric pointed out. "You're looking better already."

Not just Józef. Isaac passed around the jar and watched as it put everyone into a better mood. All the anger and vitriol from earlier had gone, and in its place was a room full of old clerics eating an old-fashioned treat. The complexity of their problems gave way to the innocent and almost childlike giddiness that cocoa often brings forth. Isaac could not help but smile.

Now that the color had come back to the young king's face, Allura encouraged him to get started. "Are you ready, my dear?"

He nodded and returned to the chair beside his bed.

"Good boy," Jeremiah praised, licking the smudges off his fingers while his two minions followed suit.

Within moments, Józef had the lute in hand and started playing a few notes. After a few sparks and crackles, the gateway reopened.

* * *

~...~

* * *

The magical portal was gone almost as quickly as it had come. Cedric stared at the empty space in the corner of the room in disbelief. The prospect of escape had been at hand, but it dwindled the moment Matthias and the clerics had started bickering.

The gray wizard still mumbled words under his breath—likely another string of curses. The more time Cedric spent with the unmannered old man, the more the craftsman wished he had not tagged along in the first place. Without patience or teamwork, he and his companions had little hope of standing against an enemy who was aided by the cosmic powers of the sunstones. And to have Matthias sit there—debating with the clerics after they caught him red-handed—was embarrassing!

Cedric wished he had not been thrust before a group of men and women he had so thoroughly deceived. He deserved their wrath along with Matthias and Bram, though in actuality, he had never been given a direct say in the matter. Perhaps it was because Bram had just assumed the humble craftsman would go along with whatever decisions were made. Or maybe the knight believed Cedric had not yet earned a seat at the decision-making table—which would have been a pity, since he considered himself quite capable of offering a well-reasoned perspective.

Perhaps if Bram and Matthias had just learned to work better with others, they might have had a better outcome. They might have even succeeded in getting the cleric's cooperation. But it seemed the closer each man got to his enemy, the more his doubts and insecurities caused him to withdraw from the very people most able to help.

Despite Cedric's own shame and embarrassment, he actually awaited the clerics' return. Especially if they were willing to help, since and it was becoming increasingly clear that Bram might indeed be in trouble. But while Cedric waited—and hoped—for them to return, he put some serious thought toward Arcesilaus' erratic and inconsistent behavior.

The craftsman had spent a long career in politics, and he knew that temperance and self-restraint were among a ruler's most important attributes. Kings did not invade other countries except for acts of war. And yet, Arcesilaus took the sunstone from the clerics in a rash and violent manner that was so unlike the rational man he portrayed at the banquet table. Moreover, he claimed to have sensed Bram's coming through prophesy, so it did not make sense that he would test the knight's honesty with truth serum. True prophets did not tend to doubt their own visions.

As he puzzled it out, a grand scenario formed in his mind. It was both plausible and terrifying, and it explained so much of what had gone on during the evening. By the time he had a good handle on the details, he wanted to run it by his gray wizard companion.

"Matthias?" He hoped the old man was in a better mood for hypothesizing. "Did you ever consider that perhaps Arcesilaus wasn't really himself?"

Matthias looked miserable. He had bags under his eyes, his beard was disheveled, and his mood seemed depressed. "What did you say?"

Cedric cleared his throat, ready to try again. "I was thinking about some inconsistencies with King Arcesilaus, and I believe I've worked out a theory."

The old man perked up slightly. "And what would that be?"

The craftsman seized on the sage's curiosity. "What if the man who stole the clerics' sunstone—and the one we spoke to last night—was some sort of imposter? I mean, he looked like Arcesilaus … but what if he was really someone else?"

Matthias rolled his eyes. "And why would you think that?"

Cedric smirked. He rather enjoyed strategic conversations. "Because … we've been rationalizing all this time why King Arcesilaus has done all these things—but we never stopped to think that perhaps it wasn't him after all!"

Matthias stood perfectly still. His fingers went to his whiskers, which he started to twist and twirl absently. Cedric recognized the tick. It meant that Matthias was now fully engaged and thinking it through.

"I suppose … if the man we spoke to last night was impersonating king Arcesilaus using a disguise, then he would have needed magic to make it convincing. But that wouldn't have been possible within an anti-magic field. Unless …."

Cedric leaned close. "Unless the imposter wasn't the one maintaining the field, right?"

Matthias looked impressed. "Yes, very good. I didn't realize you were familiar with magic, Mister Curtis."

"I'm not," the craftsman clarified, "but I do pay attention now and then when wizards take the time to explain it to me."

Matthias chuckled. "Then I should mention to you that your theory has flaws. It's impossible for a wizard to maintain an anti-magic field as large as the one around Garda—at least, not all by himself. He would have needed dozens other wizards combining and adding their powers to his—and they would have needed to be in the same room, at least."

Cedric held up an index finger. "Ahh, but what if this imposter had something to amplify their power? Something … akin, perhaps, to a sunstone?"

Matthias licked his lips. "Sure, that would work, I suppose. But as we both know, the Capricorn Stone was empty. Without the Ahriman, it contains no power."

Cedric was ready with his answer. "That's why I think the imposter had a second sunstone, one that the imposter also used to infiltrate the clerics' temple and destroy their mirrors."

Matthias practically stuttered. "Ye—yes, I suppose that's possible, too, but … but don't you realize what this means?"

"Yes, of course." It was time for Cedric to clinch it. He practically bubbled with glee. "It might not be an imposter, per se, but rather Arcesilaus himself, under the influence of one of the Ahrimen."

Matthias' jaw hung open. "Great Gaia, of course! Then Samuel Cortez must be involved!"

Cedric was quite proud of his skills of deduction. "Yes, it's consistent. Samuel already succeeded in corrupting King Richard. What's one more king to him?"

Matthias looked skeptical. "Wait a minute … so, Samuel set up Arcesilaus to get possessed by one of the Ahrimen. Therefore, he must have thought he could control them. But then Samuel went out of his way to recruit Bram. That must mean that this Ahriman has turned on him."

"Precisely," Cedric answered. "I think Samuel originally sent this Ahriman with the intent of retrieving Lord Zagan's sunstone. But then Arcesilaus—or should I say, the Ahriman who happens to be possessing Arcesilaus—found out that Lord Zagan had already escaped the sunstone. I imagine it must have been furious."

Matthias gasped. "But if Samuel sent the creature in the first place, he probably doesn't know! He's still thinking he can send Bram to get Lord Zagan's sunstone, and if he fails, at least it's a way to bring both sunstones together."

"Three sunstones, actually," Cedric corrected. "The Ahriman has one, too. Of course, it's all just a theory, but all the pieces fit. If you think about our entire mission, it's actually nothing more than Samuel's Plan B."

Matthias twisted his whiskers ever more furiously. "Yes … it does explain quite a bit. However, it doesn't explain why this Ahriman would treat us to a feast, rather than destroying us outright. Or why it would bother with an elaborate farce about cursed humans."

Cedric took a deep breath. He had almost worked this part out, too, but now he had to put the details together on the fly. "There's not much we know about this Ahriman. The only one we've encountered so far has been Abaddon, and we know he tended to employ mind-control and intimidation. But who's to say the others are like him? I'm sure this Ahriman didn't invite us to the banquet to be nice, but perhaps it wanted us to buy into its story—and it used the feast as a way to convince us."

"But to what end?" Matthias pressed.

"I don't know," Cedric answered. "But had we followed through, it would have seeded panic and distrust among the clerics, which would have led to chaos and in-fighting. That seems pretty consistent with what we've seen from the Ahrimen. Of course, when it found out that Bram intended to take the sunstone straight to Samuel Cortez rather than the clerics, it must have changed tactics."

Matthias stopped the twirling of his whiskers and stared at Cedric with eyes of wonderment. "And you really came up with all of this on your own?"

Cedric was taken aback. "What's wrong with it? Do you see any flaws?"

"N—No …" Matthias bumbled. "It's just that … well, I'm a bit … impressed."

The craftsman leaned back, feeling flattered. "You think so?"

Matthias nodded and offered a brief chuckle. "Cedric … I've met a lot of bright men before, but you're probably one of the brightest. Though it's my own fault for doing so, I believe I've undervalued your contribution to our group."

The craftsman felt his chest tighten and his cheeks redden. "Oh, come on … you don't need to say that."

"No, I'm serious," Matthias insisted. "I probably rely too much on direct skills, such as wizardry and sword-fighting. But you possess something different. You think things through, and that's important! When you put your mind to something, it rightly impresses the rest of us."

Cedric was practically glowing. He never thought such simple praise would mean so much to him. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it. I only have one suggestion."

"What's that?" Cedric wondered.

"If the clerics come back—and I think they will—let's just keep this discussion between us."

"Why's that?" the craftsman challenged. "Don't you think we'd have a better relationship with the clerics if we stopped keeping so many secrets?"

Matthias sighed. "Yes, you make a good point. But you don't know Jeremiah. He and I go way back, and I know he'll do his best to shut down your theory."

"But why?" Cedric begged. It hurt to think that his ideas might be dismissed so easily.

Matthias shook his head. "It's because he doesn't like to consider possibilities that don't suit him—that's why. He's stubborn!"

Cedric wondered why old wizards always had a habit of making life difficult for everyone else. Matthias must have sensed his frustration, because he threw in a few more words of encouragement.

"How about this? Let's agree to prioritize getting out of this mess. Then, when it's all behind us, we'll tell the clerics everything. And I'll stand by your theory no matter what."

Cedric could not have been happier. The fact that Matthias genuinely wanted to support him meant more than anything—even if his theory went nowhere.

"Agreed!"

The pact could not have come at a better time. As soon as the words left Cedric's lips, he heard a small crackling from the room's corner. His spirits soared as the magical portal returned. He and Matthias stood up simultaneously.

On the other side, he was once again greeted by the clerics. "Thank the Zohar!" he proclaimed, careful this time to use the preferred deity.

"Our apologies," Allura's voice called out. She was definitely one of the nicer and more polite clerics. Cedric appreciated her civility among all the other tension, even though she was likely to side with the others when it came to retribution. "We had some unforeseen difficulties, but I'm confident we've sorted through them."

Matthias cleared his throat, his expression now far more contrite than earlier. "That's good news." He adjusted his robes, looking more sheepish than usual—if not downright nervous. "Am I … am I right to believe that King Brandt is there with you?"

Allura stepped to the side to expose the young heir, who strummed the lute behind her. "Yes, His Majesty has been quite generous in providing his musical talents."

"Would it …." Matthias coughed. He seemed to be having trouble with his words. "Would it be all right if I spoke to him a bit before we move on?"

Allura looked surprised. "Of course. I don't see why not."

The gauze-wrapped king of Kitezh faced the portal, never ceasing his strumming. The old wizard's chin quivered.

"I don't know if I'll have another chance to say this … so I wanted to make sure I did so now." He practically choked on the words. "I'm … I'm sorry I mistreated you back in Rungholt."

For a moment, the strumming faltered, and the portal wavered. The image of the clerics momentarily faded, but after a moment or two it bounced back.

"I apologize." Józef took a deep breath and seemed to hold it for a long time. "I was … not expecting that."

The young king continued. "If only I could find the words to describe how sorry I am for failing to protect your daughter. But I cannot. The wounds run deep and seal my feelings beneath an unbreakable scab. But that was just my own experience. I knew her briefly … but she was your only daughter."

The room was steeped in respectful silence. Matthias stood still and stoic, though Cedric sensed a deep sadness and regret beneath his gruff exterior.

"I want you to know, Master Deleuze, that my heart breaks for your loss … and I now have a better understanding of feelings … other than my own. I want you to know—after all I have been through—that I have pledged to be a better person. I must take responsibility from now on … and understand the consequences of my actions. And I will! I believe … that my father would have wanted it that way."

Matthias took a couple of steps closer to the portal, his eyes misty. "I realize now why Angela cared for you. You're a good man, King Brandt, and I think your father would have been proud."

Cedric marveled at the touching scene. The boy's face took on a complex expression. The room felt smaller as Matthias' and Józef's exchange captured something touching and meaningful. Cedric had learned all about the confrontation at Rungholt from Bram, and how bitter and heart-wrenching it was. For the craftsman, it almost felt as if a small miracle had occurred, giving both sides a chance to reconcile and start over.

Józef merely nodded, but it seemed like a new aura surrounded him, as if a massive emotional weight had been lifted. "Thank you, Master Deleuze."

Jeremiah cleared his throat. His voice still gruff, but now slow-paced and considerate. "Your Majesty … Master Deleuze … if you're both finished, we really ought to proceed."

"Yes, of course." Matthias rejoined Cedric a few steps back from the portal.

Cedric was pleased. He might not ever know for sure, but he suspected that much of Matthias' issues likely came from the grief he carried and the guilt stemming from his daughter's death. He hoped this touching conversation would grant Matthias some reprieve and allow him to focus on his mission. The timing could not have been better.

Lady Allura returned to her position directly in front of the portal, pointing to an area off to the side. "Beyond this southern wall is a storeroom where Arcesilaus' men are keeping your belongings. We will cast a spell through the portal that will allow you to pass through. Once you've had a chance to equip your gear and prepare, we plan to find Mister Morrison and stage an escape."

"But there are sentries outside," Matthias explained. "I suspect the castle is teeming with them. Plus, we don't know where they've taken Bram."

"Understood. We expected as much," Allura acknowledged. "We'll support you with some magic from our side, but there are limitations to what we can cast through the lute. Therefore, we strongly recommend that you avoid any confrontation. Are you ready?"

Cedric felt the heavy mantle of dread descend. If the clerics had limitations with their magic, it did not sound especially safe. If his theories were right about Arcesilaus, the sentries were most likely instructed to kill on sight. Against well-armed soldiers, Cedric did not stand much of a chance at survival. Nevertheless, Allura seemed to take his silence as tacit agreement.

"Józef, please play in C-major. Mister Curtis, Master Deleuze … we'll contact you shortly."

As soon the young king switched keys, the portal transformed. Cedric reached out to stop it, but he was too late. In its place was a semitransparent golden sheet that covered the adjacent wall. Cedric felt nervous.

"She expects us to pass through," Matthias explained.

Cedric already understood that much. He was just hesitant to walk into unprotected territory. He tested it with his hand, which easily passed through the golden-colored canvas. He looked over his shoulder at the impatient gray wizard urging him forward. Holding his breath, Cedric stepped through the wall.

As soon as his head emerged, he found himself in the aforementioned storeroom. It had a musty smell and contained various crates and shelves of supplies. His armor and warhammer were piled in plain sight along with Bram's. He began strapping them on as Matthias emerged right behind him. It was a tight fit with both men in between hordes of clutter, but he managed.

With his leather armor and warhammer firmly secured, the second half of the lute began playing all by itself. Almost at once, the portal reformed above them. Allura was ready with her next set of instructions.

"Good. I see you've equipped your belongings. Now, I'd like to introduce you to my colleague Jacob, an expert in resonance vibration." She gestured to one of the clerics, an obsequious fellow who rarely strayed too far from Jeremiah's shadow.

The white-robed cleric offered a shallow bow to Allura before facing the portal. "Good evening, Gentlemen. For years, I have researched the weak interactions between magical energy and the objects around it."

Cedric was instantly lost. Jacob must have noticed the glazed look in his eyes, so the cleric elaborated.

"Think of magic like a wave. It travels in ripples in the same way a pebble does when thrown into a lake. As those ripples bounce off objects, they create vibrations that an experienced wizard like myself can attempt to analyze—almost like a bat using sonar. It works through walls, floors, and other objects that would normally violate the line-of-sight rules of most magic. I intend to use this technique to find a path to your friend, and hopefully identify any hostile forces along the way."

Cedric felt his chest constrict. "Hopefully …?"

Meanwhile, his gray wizard companion looked quite impressed. "Very clever. I remember reading about some of the early work in this field. I assume you've already taken some initial measurements?"

Jacob nodded. "Indeed. I've determined the positions of several Elfen archers patrolling the halls near your quarters. You should know that in addition to their bows, they employ sharpened quarterstaffs for melee combat. It's strongly advised that we avoid them, if possible."

Cedric's heart sank as he considered the alternative. If stealth were to fail, he might need to fight his way through. He was not trained for combat and could not rely on enough magic from the clerics for support. The fear of facing highly trained military units nearly overwhelmed him. He could barely speak.

"Wh—what happens if we can't sneak by? No doubt the stairwells are crawling with sentries. What if … what if we have to face them all at once?"

Allura wore a look of sympathy. "Jacob, we can't expect Mister Curtis to fight against those kinds of odds. See if you can scan the upper floors for an easier way to make it downstairs."

Cedric was relieved to have Allura step in to support him. She seemed genuine and caring—different from the sneaky woman Matthias had once portrayed her to be. Even so, it felt embarrassing that his lack of combat skills held everyone else back. He felt more like a liability than an asset.

"I think I might have found something," Jacob announced. Cedric was relieved. "There's a chamber across the hall, which appears to contain some kind of small vertical passage—mostly likely a dumbwaiter. As uncomfortable as it might sound, squeezing inside might be your best chance of making it to the lower floor unseen. Sadly, there's additional risk, since I can't sense what's beyond the passage."

Cedric swallowed. His chest felt like it was a spawning ground for mayflies, but this path was perhaps his best chance to survive. "Let's do it."

Jacob nodded. "Once you make it to the bottom level, I'll be able to see further. But in the meantime, we'll need to close our communications portal. Otherwise, the sound of the lute will give you away."

Cedric's muscles stiffened and his heart pounded. As soon as he stepped outside of the storage room, his life would be in mortal danger. His paltry leather armor would never stop the sentries' powerful arrows from piercing through his chest. But had to remind himself that he was not a coward. He had to be brave … for Rosa!

"Be ready," Jacob instructed. "I've unlocked the storage room door and will let you know when the coast is clear. As soon as you're in a safe spot, strum a C-major chord to contact us."

Cedric felt an arm on his shoulder. "Are you ready?" Matthias gazed into his eyes, looking genuinely empathetic. "I need you to lead, Cedric. I'll have my arms full carrying the rest of our belongings. It's heavy, but I'll manage."

Cedric tried to repress his fears and put on his best smile. "I can do this."

Matthias nodded, and Cedric knew he had to stop worrying and focus. In moments, Jacob would give the word, and he would have to be quick. He did not need to wait long.

"Go. Now!"

As soon as Jacob spoke, the portal closed and Cedric was on his own. He reached for the door and peeked his head into the hall. The sentries all had their backs turned as they marched down the hall in opposite directions. He would be a sitting duck if even one of them turned around. He had only a few scarce moments to act.

With adrenaline pumping, he ushered Matthias out and silently closed the door behind him. The fear was like shards of ice slicing through his veins. He held his breath as he shimmied across the stone floor as quietly as he could. Matthias followed by his side, a bulging burlap sack full of Bram's armor and sword, the lute, and his staff along his back. Across the hall, Cedric pulled the latch on the door. His heart soared when he was able to confirm that it was unlocked. Mindful of any noise from the hinges, he pulled it open and allowed Matthias in first. He then shut the door behind him.

Beads of sweat rolled down his cheeks as he finally gave himself permission to breath. He had made it … he hoped. There was nothing handy to barricade the door, so he simply prayed to the Goddess that none of the sentries would follow him inside.

At the far end of the room was a dumbwaiter, just as Jacob had predicted. Cedric assumed it was intended to transfer food from the kitchen to the various guest quarters. It was large enough to roll full sized carts in and out.

He let Matthias enter first, while he used a nearby rope to lower down the compartment. It was a tight squeeze, so Matthias left his sack of items behind for a second trip. Cedric hoped there was nothing dangerous on the other side. The anticipation gave him stomach cramps as he waited for the compartment to return.

Happily, it did return, at which point he loaded it with the bulging sack. He moved slowly, still conscious of keeping quiet. When it was time for his turn, he bit his fingernails all the way down. The compartment creaked with his weight, he held his breath and tried to stay perfectly still. He imagined his face to be beet-red.

At the bottom, he squeezed out into a dark and quiet kitchen. At first glance, it appeared to be empty. Matthias withdrew the lute from the bag, and Cedric presumed it was time to play the C-Major chord. He hoped the enemy was well out of earshot as he recalled his lessons from so many years ago.

At once, the portal formed and a cheerful-looking Jeremiah greeted them from the other side. "Well done, men," he praised.

Cedric wiped away another drop of sweat rolling down his neck. "There doesn't seem to be any sentries in the direct vicinity, but we haven't checked the nearby hallways. We were hoping that Jacob could give us another update."

"Yes, I can do that," the bald-headed cleric informed. "I have detected several sentries in the dining area and adjacent hallways, but they do not seem to be within earshot."

Cedric let out another pent-up breath.

"Do you have any idea where we can find Bram or Arcesilaus?" Matthias asked.

Jeremiah nodded. "If you were on our side of the portal, Mister Deleuze, you would be sensing some incredible resonance waves. There's an immense amount of magic nearby. We must be getting close!"

"Anything more specific?" Matthias pressed. "We're in the servant's side of the castle. There should be little else around here except for the living quarters for the dining and cleaning staff. Why would Arcesilaus be around here?"

Jacob held his fingers to his temple, looking deep in concentration. "The source of the magic is coming from down below. There must be some kind of underground passageway—perhaps a subbasement or … or a wine cellar."

Cedric stroked his beard. "You know … wine cellars need to be cool and dry, away from the heat and moisture generated by kitchens. If the layout of this castle is anything like the king's manor in Angkor, I suspect we'll find the entrance to the wine cellar in the pantry, which is probably on the way to the servant's quarters."

Jeremiah smiled. "Hoho, good thinking!"

"Yes," Jacob murmured. "I sense a small room along the hallway to the right."

Cedric's throat dried. "You … you mean … past the sentries?"

Jacob sighed. "I'm afraid so. But don't worry: If you follow our instructions, we'll help you through it. First, head to the front of the kitchen, so I can get a better sense of their positions."

Cedric followed Jacob's instructions. He circled around a set of prep tables, catching the acrid scent of ammonia atop the underlying musk of rendered fat. He was reminded of cleaning supplies and dinner, giving his gut another reason to protest. He had to find some way of calming his fears.

"Hold up!"

Cedric froze as he heeded Jacob's warning.

"A set of sentries is patrolling up ahead. At least three of them past the next turn."

"In the servants' quarters?" Matthias asked. "We must be on the right track."

Cedric cringed. He saw Jeremiah approach the portal, and he had a bad feeling about what the elder cleric was about to say.

"Mister Curtis … there's only so much we can do from our side of the portal. Based on my calculation, we can target two sentries at once. You're the only one equipped with a weapon, so we'll need you to take on the third."

Cedric's knees felt weak and his bravery slipped away. "But … but I don't think I can." He sounded like a coward, but he could no longer hold back. His words flowed through his lips like water through a sieve. "I've never had to turn my weapon against another man before!"

The statement was not entirely true. The craftsman had recently used an improvised weapon to stab the guardsman who threatened him inside Angkor's dungeons. The man had been cruel and relentless, and he deserved to die. Perhaps, if Cedric were able to call upon the gumption he felt from that experience, it would ease his doubts.

Sadly, things were now much different. The man from the dungeon had been cruel and sadistic, giving Cedric plenty of hate to galvanize into courage. But these sentries were merely following Arcesilaus' orders. Cedric was not sure if he could willingly take their lives. He imagined his hands drenched in their blood and it made him sick! But if he hesitated … they surely would not!

"Please, Mister Curtis," Jeremiah insisted. "You must be brave. There's no one else!"

Allura stepped forward. "We have no intention of taking their lives, Mister Curtis. Don't forget that we are life-givers, and it does not come easy for us to fight back. That's why we'll be utilizing sleep spells, as long as we can get a clear view of our targets. So if you can incapacitate the first one, we'll take care of the other two."

"That's simple enough, isn't it?" Jeremiah coaxed. "Besides, you'll have the element of surprise."

Cedric took a deep breath. Everyone depended on him. He could not back down. "I can do this," he promised, even though his veins were still frozen solid.

"All you need to do is go to the end of the hall and turn left," Jacob instructed. "The first sentry will be directly in front of you. We'll keep the portal open. Just remember that the lute will continue to play, so if you hesitate, it will give away your position. Are you ready?"

Cedric once again swallowed to moisten the lump in his throat. His chest and underarms were drenched in sweat. But he nodded. Goddess help him, he nodded!

"Good. Now … go!"

Cedric gripped his warhammer tightly as he lunged down the hallway. His muscles were rubber-bands, stretched and ready to recoil as soon as he let go. As he busted around the corner, his weapon was in full backswing.

The sentry never saw it coming. Half-way through the process of turning around, Cedric's silver-plated tool—likely with half the weight of the sentry himself—transferred the full force of its momentum into its target. The Elfen archer flew backward into the air, landing with a thump on his back.

Without thinking, Cedric wound his arm back again. He was afraid of retaliation, and sheer fire had warmed the ice in his blood, turning his body into a steam engine. He needed to be sure the man would not get up and fight back. He stood overhead—ready to deliver the finishing blow—when a hand grabbed him by the shoulder.

"Cedric, stand down."

The weight of the craftsman's hammer was too much. It slipped through his limp fingers and hit the ground with a clank. Meanwhile, Matthias pointed to the men on the ground, who were now all in enchanted sleep.

Cedric fell to his knees, his body trembling. "Thank the Goddess! I … I was ready to kill him!"

"It's all right." Matthias gave Cedric a few pats on the shoulder. "Now you won't have to."

Cedric wiped the sweat from his brow and faced the plain wooden door that was sure to be the kitchen pantry. It beckoned like a bottle of his favorite brandy. "So … let's find out if we have the right place."

"Hold up." Matthias placed his arm in Cedric's path as he faced the clerics. "Is there anything we need to worry about on the other side?"

Jacob shook his head. "The room appears to be empty. But there's still a surprising amount of resonance. Allura … Jeremiah … I can't say for sure, but I suspect Arcesilaus may be using the sunstone."

The One Voice buried her face in her hands. "Are we already too late? Matthias, Cedric … you must hurry!"

Feeling his courage return, Cedric reached for the door latch and pulled.

Sure enough, his instincts were right. The room was indeed a pantry, with sacks of flour and rice, barrels of potatoes and root vegetables, and racks of cured meats and cheeses. But other than the usual stock, there did not seem to be anything out of the ordinary.

"Check over there," Matthias suggested, pointing along one side. "There must be a hidden passage somewhere."

Cedric pushed a few shelves and crates aside, hoping to find something along the walls or floor. After moving one particularly large crate, he caught sight of a white outline of light peeking along the grout of the cobblestones.

"Over here," he announced.

Matthias helped push aside more of the items on top. Cedric could now see the outline of a trap door. He found the latch and pulled.

As soon as the panel opened, an unholy yellow light filled the room. He blinked a few times until he was able to adjust. He looked over to Matthias, who nodded in agreement. Holding his breath, Cedric took his first step inside.


	16. Chapter 8, Part XV

**.**

* * *

 **Part XV**

 _Before Daybreak of Quartus, Second Day of Duskmoon_

* * *

Bram awoke to total darkness. He had the strange sensation of floating, as in water, even though he appeared to be in empty space. A cold and damp air chilled him to the core. He tried to huddle for warmth, but his arms were bound tightly behind his back. Not by physical restraints—he felt no rope chafing his wrists—but by some kind of invisible force. He struggled to no avail.

Failing to escape his bonds, he turned his attention to his surroundings. He searched for something—anything—that would help him to identify where he was, but all he saw was his own foggy breath. Until it appeared … a small blue flame that flickered silently in front of him. It was not attached to any fuel source, but rather floated in the void along with him. It might have been quite faint if not for the utter darkness—but in this place, it shined like a beacon.

He gazed into the flame, curious about its origin. As he did so, he realized he could see inside with incredible—if not infinite—detail. The more he concentrated, the further he could magnify his view. So he focused, diving ever inward, beyond the limits of human vision. Deeper and deeper, thousands of times smaller than a grain of sand—then ten thousand times smaller than that.

At the end … in the deepest recesses of space that defied human experience … he finally saw it. A creature of unimaginable malice and hatred swam like a tadpole in a lagoon of mystical energy. Abaddon of the Wroth Sea, Devourer of Souls, Child of Chaos, and many other names that Bram recalled through his latent Grigori memories. This creature had been sealed away for a thousand years inside the Pisces Stone, but was eons older than that. Mankind had once found a way to defeat it, until King Richard had unwittingly released it.

More accurately, Abaddon had freed himself. The Ahriman had succeeded in tempting the King of Angkor with its powers, just as it had lured many others. All it needed was a gesture of free will—an invitation to reside inside the body. Once there, the Ahriman would incubate, like a maggot that ate away at the soul a bite at a time while growing in strength. And then, when the last bit of human life force was consumed, it would emerge in its true form—the same terrifying and hulking monstrosity that Bram defeated in the depths of Angkor's Substratum.

"I SEE YOU WATCHING ME, GRIGORI. YOU ARE WEAK … AND PATHETIC."

A voice that sounded like boulders tumbling down and crushing the life out of a hill echoed throughout the flame. Bram recognized Abaddon's voice. But he was not afraid, nor would he back down.

"Perhaps I am … but I was strong enough to defeat you! And I'll do it again if I must."

Bram did not need to speak his thoughts directly. In the tiny space within the flame, his introspection resounded with perfect clarity.

The crunch and grinding of rocks resumed in an unnerving laughter that mocked his attempt to sound brave. When the voice next spoke, it was an avalanche.

"DID YOU TRULY BELIEVE A SINGLE VICTORY WOULD HAVE GRANTED YOU DOMINION, MORTAL? I KNOW WHY YOU CAME HERE, AND IT WAS NOT TO PROTECT THE SUNSTONE. YOU CAME FOR NAUGHT BUT YOUR OWN SELFISH REASONS. I'VE BEEN LISTENING, SO DO NOT PRETEND THAT YOU FOLLOW THE PATH OF RIGHTEOUSNESS."

Bram shivered as a gust of frigid air blew over him. Abaddon claimed to have overheard his conversations, which no doubt included his quarrels with Matthias and Cedric. But did it also include his inner thoughts … those things he most wanted to keep hidden?

The response left no doubt.

"YES, GRIGORI. I CAN HEAR YOUR THOUGHTS … THE SWEET EMOTE OF GREED … THE LONGING FOR LUST AND DESIRE THAT CANNOT BE QUENCHED WITHOUT A CERTAIN FEMALE COMPANION. I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE WILLING TO SACRIFICE IN ORDER TO SAVE HER. THAT IS WHY I BROUGHT YOU HERE … TO LET YOU KNOW … THAT YOUR EFFORTS HAVE ALL BEEN IN VAIN."

Something buried deep inside Bram's subconscious sprang to life, making him feel angry and defensive. "You're a liar! And if you read my thoughts, you'd know that I'll believe nothing you say. I will save her!"

He had to beware of Abaddon's taunts. They were clearly distractions meant to demoralize him. He needed only to hold firm to his beliefs that Rosa would be unharmed. Anything less would poison his mind with endless paranoia.

At the same time, he could not ignore the possibility that Abaddon knew of a new danger to Rosa's safety. There was a lot at stake, perhaps too much to reject the demon's words outright.

"YOUR CONFIDENCE AMUSES ME, GRIGORI. YOU HAVE DETERMINATION. THAT IS WHY I CHOSE YOU."

Bram detested those words. "You won't tempt me with your powers like you did King Richard. I've already vowed not to use the sunstone."

A landslide of rocks louder than before showed Abaddon's amusement. "YOU CANNOT AVOID IT. YOU ARE MORTAL; I AM ETERNAL. TIME WILL PASS FOR YOU, AS IT DOES FOR ALL MEN. I HAVE WITNESSED IT A THOUSAND TIMES … AND A THOUSANDFOLD MORE. AT SOME POINT, YOU WILL REACH OUT TO ME …."

Another cold gust froze Bram's nose and cheeks. He whole buddy shook from the cold, but he forced himself to endure as Abaddon continued.

"AND THAT TIME MAY ARRIVE SOONER THAN YOU THINK, ONCE YOU DISCOVER WHAT YOUR BROTHER HAS DONE TO THE ONE YOU LOVE."

Bram pulled at his restraints until he nearly dislocated his shoulders. In a way, he wanted the pain. It was the only outlet for his anger at being subjected to this beast's filthy lies. Or at least, he believed them to be lies. He knew that time was short and Rosa's life depended on him. He could not afford to be blindsided.

Even so, he still had time. Samuel would be foolish to hurt her before Kane made the exchange with the sunstone—and that was still a couple of days away. But Bram still wondered if the Ahriman knew something it was not willing to reveal. It was like a dangling string of fabric, daring him to pull … or an itch that would not give up until scratched. Bram ground his teeth. He could not resist.

"Tell me what you know!"

A rumbling of rocks followed. "YOU WILL LEARN … SOON ENOUGH."

Bram cursed himself for falling into Abaddon's trap. The Ahriman wanted to toy with him. To play with his emotions. He tried turning away from the flame entirely, but he was captivated, not to mention desperate for answers. The pain of not knowing was like drowning underwater. The more he tried to ignore it, the more he needed to breathe!

"Tell me!" he gasped.

The rocks finally stopped their grinding. "VERY WELL, LITTLE KNIGHT. HEARKEN CLOSE."

Bram leaned forward, barely able to contain his eagerness.

"SAMUEL HOLDS YOUR WOMAN ABOARD HIS SHIP, WHICH HE HAS MADE INTO A SANCTUARY FOR THIEVES AND BRUTISH MERCENARIES. THESE MEN HAVE VIOLENT AND CRIMINAL HISTORIES … AND THEY HAVE HUNGERED FOR A WOMAN TO SATIATE THEIR LUSTFUL DESIRES."

Bram wanted to plug his ears. He knew where this was going and he no longer wanted to hear. "Shut up!"

But now that Abaddon had begun, it was determined to continue.

"I HAVE NO DOUBT THAT YOU WILL FIND HER, GRIGORI. BUT ONCE YOU SEE WHAT THEY HAVE DONE … HOW THEY RAVAGED AND DEFILED HER BODY … BATTERED AND BROKE HER SPIRIT … YOU WILL DEMAND JUSTICE, AND YOU WILL BEG ME FOR MY POWER."

Abaddon's words were snake venom injected straight into his bloodstream, inflaming his body with hatred and fury. Each syllable brought him one step closer to madness! His body shook, and his eyes burned with fire a thousand times brighter than Abaddon's meager flame. Images of his worst fears formed in his head. The woman he loved more than anything in the world was being beaten and raped by a gang of Samuel's thugs. Her face was bruised, eyes swollen shut, lips split and bloodied, mind so traumatized it left her as an empty shell.

"Lies!" he insisted. He needed to believe it was all lies. "I won't believe you. It's not true!"

"BUT IT IS, GRIGORI. WHEN YOU FIND HER … SHE WILL NOT EVEN RECOGNIZE YOU."

Out of Bram's mouth came a cacophony of all the fears and doubts that had accumulated over multiple restless days and nights. His faith and confidence were shattered, and he began to see his future as fixed and unchangeable—an immutable tragedy predestined to happen—no matter how hard he struggled!

The Oracle had promised him "free will", but it was a sham. The Minoans saw him as a Savior, but he could never live up to that. His path was destined for failure, the burdens too great to bear. He would have never agreed to be a sunstone protector if he understood the sacrifices he needed to make.

And then, all of a sudden, Samuel's plan became perfectly clear. His brother had created an unwinnable quest. It was never about trading Rosa for one of the sunstones. It was about making Bram into a host for one of the Ahrimen!

"NOW DO YOU FINALLY UNDERSTAND?"

Abaddon's words broke down the wall of blood and tears that had formed around Bram's vision. Anger and doubt had ruined his resolve. He needed to resist the temptation for vengeance … but it was hard. He wanted it.

"I won't succumb!" He had to say the words aloud, but they were empty and meaningless. "You'll never have my body! I won't be a slave to my brother. Never!"

The barrage of rocks resumed its landslide. "THAT IS NOT WHAT I HAVE PLANNED FOR YOU, GRIGORI."

Bram was caught off guard. "What do you mean?"

"YOU SHALL NOT BECOME A MEMBER OF YOUR BROTHER'S THRALL. RATHER, I INTEND TO OFFER YOU A CHANCE FOR VENGEANCE AND RETRIBUTION."

Bram shook his head, trying to make sense of what the Ahriman had said. "I don't understand."

"I OFFER YOU A PARTNERSHIP, MORTAL, ONE THAT SUPERCEDES THE BARGAINS I HAVE STRUCK WITH SAMUEL CORTEZ."

Bram pondered this strange proposal. "Are you offering to help me destroy my brother?"

"YES … AND YOU SHOULD KNOW THAT YOU WOULD NOT SHARE THE SAME FATE AS YOUR FORMER KING. FOR YOU SEE, CROMWELL HAD ALLOWED ME INTO HIS BODY MANY TIMES. HIS GREED HAD WORN AWAY HIS SOUL TO THE POINT WHERE IT HAD FINALLY DESTROYED ITSELF. BUT YOU ARE STRONGER … AND YOU WILL MAINTAIN CONTROL OF YOUR BODY. I WILL GIVE YOU THE POWER TO STRIKE DOWN YOUR BROTHER, BUT WITHOUT THE CONSEQUENCES YOU MOST FEAR. IN RETURN, ALL I ASK IS TO BE RELEASED FROM THIS PRISON."

Bram drew in heavy breaths as he listened to Abaddon's proposal. Oh, how he craved the chance to make Samuel suffer! Abaddon offered to destroy the man who had taken everything from him, and the offer was tempting … too tempting. But though he wanted to say yes, there was something about it … something that still did not seem right ….

"WHY DO YOU HESITATE? THIS IS YOUR CHANCE FOR JUSTICE … AND TO HONOR THE ONE YOU LOVE."

Bram squeezed his eyes shut. The power was so close … like icy fingers grazing the back of his skull. The feeling of invulnerability … of pure joy and ecstasy. He wanted to breathe it in … to direct it at those responsible!

"YES … I GIVE IT ALL TO YOU. ALL YOU ASK AND MORE!"

"No!"

With all his strength and willpower, Bram ripped himself away from the flame. The effort was painful, both emotionally and physically. But he did it because Abaddon was wrong. Destroying Samuel felt like justice, but it would never bring honor to the woman he loved.

Deep within his heart, there was a well of guilt, which he had filled throughout the years each time he missed an opportunity to cherish his love with Rosa. All that time he had dedicated to the Gnostic Knighthood had become his biggest regret. The remorse he felt fueled his anger, which in turn led to hatred … but directing those feelings toward his brother was not the answer.

Rather, he needed to face inward. Peace began with making amends for his own mistakes. The correct path was that of penance, not a perversion of love in the form of reprisal. Rosa meant too much for him to give in to retribution, much less a decision to release Abaddon into the world. If the Ahriman's words were truthful … if Samuel's men had indeed harmed his love in the most vicious and brutal way possible … Bram would only be compounding his sin by defiling his soul for a demon's benefit.

When he finally opened his eyes, he realized he was no longer in the black void. His body felt like pins and needles. He was sitting in a chair in a room made of stone. His face and chest were drenched in sweat, and his hands were in shackles, chained to the back of the chair. There was a table in front of him, on top of which lay Abaddon's sunstone.

Whatever had just happened, it must have been some kind of spell that had sent his mind to a place where the Ahriman could tempt him. And he had come so close to giving in.

He looked around the room. Judging by the musty smell and lack of windows, he presumed it was underground. The stone chamber was fifteen spans wide and lit by torches along the walls spaced at regular intervals. Racks of bottles lined the perimeter: a wine cellar.

A shadow approached from his rear. Bram jumped as the face of a wicked crone entered his view. No … it was not a woman. It was King Arcesilaus … but his face had changed. It had taken on feminine characteristics, such as higher cheekbones and a thinner jaw line. The outlines of a bosom appeared on his chest. The flesh was gray and scaly, and the fingers were strangely elongated with sharply pointed nails. Bram knew this creature was no longer human. Libicocco wore the Elfen king's rotting body, and the demon's evil presence perverted the body's shape to hide its true form.

"I am disappointed, insect. This is the fourth time you've resisted the power of the sunstone. But not to worry. Each time you come closer to accepting your desires. Your resolve is weakening, and soon my brother shall be free."

Bram tried to speak, but his throat felt like it was lined with shards of glass. He looked to the Pisces Stone, now an innocent piece of quartz. But deep inside, Abaddon was eager and ready to try again. Somehow, Bram had no memory of the previous attempts, but he knew his resolve had weakened. So much hatred and frustration burned in the back of his mind, his thoughts smothered by layers of malaise and depression that were beyond his control. He had to stop Libicocco before she put him back in the blue flame.

"Wait … listen to me!" It hurt to speak, but he forced air through his throat. "You don't have to do this!"

The corpse of Arcesilaus laughed. "Words do not stop the spider from devouring its prey, insect."

"But what about the bargain you proposed last night?" Bram needed some way to stall. Anything! "You wanted me to take a message to Samuel. I can still do that!"

"It's too late for that, little bug. My brother hungers for your life force. That hunger must be satiated."

Arcesilaus' corpse never took its eyes off its work. It knelt on the floor while drawing runes of magic with a piece of chalk. As it worked, it mumbled mad phrases under its breath.

Bram knew it was useless to talk his way out. The Oracle had warned him that the Ahrimen were embodiments of chaos, and it was impossible to reason with them. Already, he felt the effects of her spell, making him groggy and forgetful. He breathed in deeply, trying to clear the cobwebs in his head. He had to do something before it was too late!

All he could do was look inward. He concentrated, searching for the same Grigori powers that had worked so well while in Angkor's Substratum. He was no closer to controlling them, but at least they had worked before in moments of sheer desperation. If there was ever a case where he needed them, now was that time!

There it was … a glimmer inside the Pisces Stone. Not Abaddon, but rather an image of a man … the same one he had seen since the very beginning … who had granted him aid while escaping the Substratum. If this figure was still willing to give him guidance, he would welcome it.

"Your spell is destined to fail, Libicocco!"

The words flowed naturally from his lips, even without thinking, and it caught the Ahriman's attention. The Elfen king's corpse momentarily stopped its casting to gaze at him through bloodshot and jaundiced eyes. Bram relinquished control and allowed the spirit to speak through him. His mouth moved of its own accord, yet he felt confident that he would say the right words.

"My resolve remains strong while half your power goes toward the anti-magic field. You cannot force me to submit at a mere fraction of your strength."

The Ahriman laughed, a shrill cackle that pierced the silence of the dusty cellar. It sent chills up Bram's spine.

"Fool! I need no such field!"

Libicocco raised her arms and spoke an incantation. A miasma had coated the air, almost too fine for Bram to have noticed before. But now it faded.

"Now … close your eyes my tasty treat and relax. My brother's power will fill you with bliss, right before he devours your soul …. What? What's happening?"

Bram's grogginess disappeared and the shackles fell off his wrists. He instinctively sprung to his feet and backed away several paces. The Elfen king's corpse bared sharp fangs before disappearing in a wisp of smoke. Bram looked behind him, finally noticing two men approach from the front of the cellar.

A wide smile crept upon his lips. Cedric and Matthias stood before him, looking quite relieved.

"Thank Gaia you're safe!" the craftsman breathed. "Was that … really Libicocco?"

Bram approached the table and picked up the Pisces Stone. In one swift motion, he placed it safely in his pocket. Almost immediately, a sickly feeling came over him. Abaddon's words still haunted him at the edge of his consciousness, but he pushed them aside. Now was the time to feel encouraged. Things were finally starting to turn around.

He breathed a sigh of relief. "How did you get here? I never expected you to make it past Arcesilaus' sentries."

The gray wizard looked bewildered. "Didn't you know we were right behind you? I figured you must have known, since you tricked Arcesilaus into lowering the field. That was the only way I could use my magic to help you."

Bram had not known, in fact, but he hesitated to share his experiences with Matthias. For one thing, it was not clear whether the helpful spirit inside the sunstone was truly benevolent. After enduring so much anguish at the hands of the Ahrimen, Bram was careful not to put too much trust in anything. Besides, he was also conscious that he had come dangerously close to accepting Abaddon's powers—and he certainly did not want to lose the trust of his companions before escaping from Arcesilaus' castle.

"Yeah, of course I knew you were behind me," he lied. "I'm just grateful you got here when you did. By the way, how did you manage to escape?"

"It was all thanks to the clerics," Cedric offered, a statement which earned him a mean glare from Matthias. The craftsman looked confused. "What is it? We wouldn't have made it this far without them."

Bram practically choked. "The clerics? How did they get involved?"

Cedric seemed to realize he had said too much. He clamped his mouth shut so tightly that his lips formed a thin white crease.

Bram had a feeling he knew why. "Tell me what happened!" he demanded, but the silence that followed spoke volumes. "Don't tell me they found out about what we intended to do with the sunstone!"

Bram looked at Cedric in particular. The craftsman was a poor liar, and the sheepish look on his face confirmed his fears. Bram was furious that his companions were hesitant to tell him the truth.

"What in the Burning Pits did you tell them?" he snarled.

Matthias stood up straighter. "Get ahold of yourself, Bram! The clerics found a way to spy on us through the Paradox Lute. We didn't need to tell them anything."

Bram's shoulders slumped. The last thing he needed was eight highly experienced wizards intent on hunting him down. He cursed aloud. "Where are they now?"

Cedric looked penitent under Bram's gaze, but not so with his gray wizard companion. Matthias stared him down defiantly.

"I convinced them to stop playing the lute so that it wouldn't give away our position. But sooner or later, they're going to try to contact us again."

"Then get rid of the lute," Bram insisted. There was still a chance he could throw the clerics off his trail. "Give it to me, and I'll destroy it."

Matthias looked annoyed. "You can't just naively attempt to destroy a magical artifact! Doing so is incredibly dangerous!"

The last thing Bram needed was another magic lesson from the gray wizard. The old man was being obstinate, and Bram was out of patience. He needed to be firm.

"We're only a couple of days away from Kane contacting us, so we need to use that time to get as far away from the clerics as possible. If we destroy the lute before they contact us, they'll have a hard time following our trail. So give it to me. Now!"

Matthias and Cedric both took a step back, eyes wide and full of surprise.

"What's gotten into you, Bram?" the craftsman squeaked. "I've never seen you so angry. And your voice …."

Matthias arched his brows. "It's the Ahriman, isn't it? It did something to you down here, didn't it?"

Bram felt a shiver up his spine. Was it possible that Abaddon still controlled his anger from inside the sunstone? He needed to make amends—to quickly apologize and explain what had happened. But before he could open his mouth, the room was awash in demented laughter.

All three men backed against the nearest wall, when the corpse of the Elfen king stepped out of the shadows.

Cedric gasped. "Libicocco … she's back!"

The Ahriman cackled. "I never left, little bugs. I merely found it amusing to watch the discord brewing among you—"

Matthias raised his arms and chanted a spell. A shining bolt of energy formed at his fingertips, but with a flick of Arcesilaus' wrist, it disappeared.

"You dare to stand against me, mortal?"

Matthias kept on casting. A momentous amount of sparkling silver and golden energy formed around the wizard, turning into deadly mystical bolts. He fired dozens of these through the air, but none of them reached their target. The corpse of the Elfen king deflected them all effortlessly.

Matthias slumped forward, his breathing in raspy wheezes. "It's no good … Libicocco is much too powerful."

Bram slowly reached for his pocket. The Ahriman was not even in its true form, and already it surpassed the gray wizard's powers. He needed to be ready with the Pisces Stone … as a last resort, at least!

The body of Arcesilaus snarled, revealing a set of blackened teeth. "You would use the power of my brother against me?"

Bram faced the Ahriman. "All I want is the Capricorn Stone. Hand it over, and we can avoid battle."

Libicocco almost doubled over as she crowed, sending out a spray of green spittle. "Do you intend to defeat me with laughter, insect?"

Bram pulled out the Pisces Stone, gripping it tightly. The thought of inviting Abaddon into his body filled him with genuine dread … but Libicocco had left him with no choice! He would be helpless without it.

Fortunately, the threat worked. Libicocco stepped back.

"I am amused. It seems even worms can fight back now and then. Here. Take it!"

The corpse of the Elfen king pulled the empty sunstone out of its pocket and tossed it to Bram. He caught it with his free hand.

All faces then turned in the direction of the cellar entrance. A set of footsteps echoed off the walls, sending a sinister smile to Arcesilaus' lips.

"Ah … perfect timing."

The Lord Captain Tetric emerged into the stone chamber, looking frantic. "What's the meaning of this? My liege … what has become of you?"

The Elfen king looked strangely sympathetic. Its voice still sounded like it came from a demon, but it was also strangely endearing.

"My dear Tetric … do not abandon me now … the Elfen people are my beloved. You were my servants when I ruled this world a thousand years ago. Surely, you have not forgotten. Surely, you would not stop worshipping me?"

The Elfen captain drew his sword. "I don't know what you're talking about, but you're not my king!"

The Ahriman bared its teeth. She pointed a bony finger, and Tetric doubled over in pain. He clenched his stomach and fell to his knees, grunting and groaning as his skin slowly turned gray.

"What are you doing to him?" Bram demanded.

"I'm releasing him from his human form," Libicocco answered. "His true shape is far superior to this meager mortal husk."

Matthias' eyes went wide. "Great Gaia … it's a curse! She's changing him!"

"A curse?" Bram asked. "I thought those took years to prepare."

"Only foolish mortals call them curses," Libicocco claimed. "The Elfen kingdom used to be mine, many centuries ago. I blessed them long before I was sealed away in the sunstone. At the time, I had created a superior race, one truly fit to rule this planet! Sadly, when I was defeated, their new genes went dormant. Until now. My blessing … is that the Elfen people shall return to greatness!"

Bram felt sick. He was used to the Ahrimen's lies, but this time Libicocco seemed to be telling the truth. He watched in horror as the Lord Captain's body trembled and shook. His skin became a bright metallic silver, stretched tightly over a slender frame with arms and legs that grew long and bony. It had pointed ears, sharp fangs, and fingernails as long as knives.

When it finally stood on its lean hind legs, the creature formerly known as Tetric was no longer recognizable. Bram readied the Pisces Stone, hoping to end the creature's misery while still giving him time to take on Libicocco.

But before he could focus his concentration, the creature lunged forward. Bram dove to the side, narrowly dodging a set of razor-sharp claws aimed for his unprotected chest. He backed against the opposite wall to get his bearings, when out of nowhere Cedric's warhammer bludgeoned the creature.

The craftsman's bravery stunned it momentarily, but it quickly recovered and struck back. Cedric was not fast enough. The beast drove its claws straight through the craftsman's leather armor. Bram watched in horror as the creature lifted Cedric's body clear off the ground. With one claw plunged in his gut and the other poised for a fatal blow, Bram thought his friend was finished.

Just as quickly, a bright light flashed, and a bolt of lightning arced across the room. Matthias had cast a spell, which thankfully struck its target in the back. The bolt exploded in a cloud of sparks, and the singed body of the metallic creature dropped lifelessly to the ground.

Bram ran over to Cedric's body, which was covered in blood. He pressed his hand against the wound to stop the flow, cringing as he felt the texture of ground meat. It was bad … very bad! His concentration was interrupted by Libicocco's laughter. He glared at the Ahriman, readying the Pisces Stone to rip her to shreds.

"I've not had this much fun in ages," the demon crowed. It lifted itself off the floor with its magic, floating like a banshee. "You're better off without him, insect. He was the weakest among you and would have only held you back."

"Shut up!" Bram screamed, but his vain attempt to cut off the wicked voice was met with ire.

"Watch your words carefully, insect. I have the power to destroy you. But … I've decided to be merciful, since I believe you will lead me to Cortez. Remember … he won't recognize the empty sunstone without looking directly at it. Until we meet again."

Bram wanted to lash out, but the body of Arcesilaus was gone. He groaned in frustration. With nowhere else to direct his anger, he focused on Cedric's wound. He worked on unstrapping the leather armor while Matthias approached.

Bram was desperate for any kind of help. "Can you heal him?"

The old wizard muttered a few spells from his standing position. Light blue sparks glided like snowflakes onto Cedric's abdomen and disappeared. But a belated breath out of Matthias' mouth did not give Bram much hope.

"There's a lot of damage here … and he's lost a lot of blood. I've done my best to stabilize the wound, but he won't last long. I think we've got only one choice."

Bram had a bad feeling he knew what Matthias was going to say. "And what would that be?"

The old wizard sighed. "When the clerics caught up to us, they cast an enchantment on Cedric and myself. If either of us touches the Capricorn Stone, the spell will send us back to Kish. I know you want to avoid the clerics, but without their medical facilities … he'll die."

"We're not going back," Bram insisted. "Don't you see? This worked out better than I'd hoped. Not only do we have the sunstone, but it's empty, meaning no Lord Zagan to hurt us. Now we can easily reach Samuel's lair."

Matthias put his hands on his hips. "Were you even listening to me? Cedric won't last that long with these kinds of injuries. And when it comes to Samuel, having the sunstone won't help us if we don't know where to look!"

Bram felt his rage and fury return. This was a test of his resolve—of courage and risk-taking against horrible odds. He needed a partner strong enough to make the tough decisions. The Oracle had given Matthias incredible new powers. All he needed to do was unleash them to give Cedric more time. And Bram was going to make sure he stuck with the plan.

"You're wrong. We do know where to look."

Matthias looked astounded. "Where?"

"It came up while I was speaking with the Ahriman. It made a mistake when it mentioned Rosa being aboard Samuel's ship. It could only mean one thing."

The old wizard still looked confused, so Bram elaborated. "Before we left Angkor's Substratum, Cedric told us about his new airship design, which was taken by Samuel. It's called Zounds, and it's Galleon-class—the largest ship Angkor's ever built, with incredible weaponry and technology. I have no doubt that Samuel is hiding on that ship. All we need to do is find it!"

The gray wizard scoffed. "But it can be anywhere! Unless you've got a more specific location, we can't just fly around blindly until we run into it."

"But we can!" Bram growled. "Something so large would be easy to spot from leagues away. Samuel probably hasn't even left Angkorian airspace, and even if we don't find it, Kane will contact us in a couple of days. If you setup a broad range tracker using your magic, we can determine from where he took off. Then we'll have the advantage. We can even take him captive and follow his trail back to Samuel!"

Matthias listened intently. But at the end his frown still remained. "It's not a bad plan, Bram. But you're still taking too much of a risk with Cedric's life."

Bram's eyes narrowed. "That's why I'm counting on you to fix him. The mission has always had risks, and Cedric knew that as well as anyone. This is our best chance, and I'm not about to give it up!"

The gray wizard scoffed. "Will you just listen to yourself? You talk about taking risks, but you're not the one who's dying. Cedric's your friend, and you owe it to him to put his life first!"

Bram squeezed his eyes shut and ground his teeth. As he had feared, Matthias was ready to dig his heels into the ground for the sake of stubbornness. There had to be some way to convince him! Bram could not accept defeat—to be brought before the clerics' tribunal—all while leaving Rosa on her own to die! He had to say something.

"Forget about Cedric. What about Angela?"

Matthias' face turned red. A bony index finger waved threateningly. "Don't you dare!"

"Don't what?" Bram challenged. "This is finally your chance for vengeance on the people responsible for her death. It's what you want, isn't it? I know, because you've been avoiding the topic all week. All this talk about love versus duty … now you can have both!"

The old wizard's façade finally cracked, but not in the way Bram had expected. His anger melted, only to be replaced by a set of tears that rolled down his cheeks. "The Goddess damn you, Bram!"

The knight stared back, dumbfounded.

The gray wizard's lips trembled. "I don't deny my desires for vengeance. But you're wrong about why I've been avoiding the discussion. The truth is … I loathe the idea of using hatred or anger to prove my love for my daughter. But it's been hard not to let those thoughts cultivate and lead me down the wrong path. All I want … is to be free of the guilt I've felt for seventeen years … ever since Angela's mother died. And the last thing I need … is for a so-called Grigori Knight to tempt me against my own better judgment!"

Matthias' words chilled the fire in Bram's blood. His anger dissipated, but so did his drive, his resolve, and his hope. He thought back to why he had pushed so hard. It was still his passion and duty to protect the world from the Ahrimen, and his heart still yearned to save the love of his life. But there was something else driving his desires.

Bram was reminded of Abaddon's temptation to strike at his brother. He could not deny the appeal of delivering justice to the man who had taken everything from him. Even so, that desire had finally grown to the point where it overshadowed everything else. Bram was willing to cross the clerics, risk Cedric's life, and now he had just tempted Matthias to act on the same feelings of vengeance and hatred that Abaddon had used against him.

The sudden realization was a stake through the heart. His methods were as dark and twisted as the Ahriman. He reached out with his hand, as if it could somehow take back his words. But it was already too late.

"Matthias—"

"You shut your mouth!" There was now a different fury guiding the old sage. Bram took a step back, powerless to combat this newly galvanized rage. "You're a fraud, Abraham Morrison. The only reason I followed you was the hope that I'd find peace. But I was wrong about you. Nothing's changed since you donned that suit of silvery armor. You're the same black-hearted Gnostic as your brother. Given that … I renounce our warrior's pact!"

"Matthias, please—"

"Nothing you say will change my mind. Go ahead and do what you must. As for me … I'm going back to Kish with Cedric."

"Matthias, you can't!"

"Hand over the sunstone, Bram." The look on the wizard's face was deadly serious.

Just then, a series of monstrous screeches erupted from elsewhere in the castle. Both men looked toward the entrance of the wine cellar.

Matthias lowered his head. "I had hoped to Gaia that Libicocco was only bluffing …."

Bram hardly knew what to think. He saw his last chance to save Rosa slip through his fingers. Everything he had fought so hard to achieve was about to fall to the cold hard floor.

"What do you mean?" He spoke with halfhearted words.

The gray wizard readied his staff. "It's the rest of the Elfen sentries. The Ahriman's curse has affected them all. I suspect they'll be down here any moment to finish us off."

"All of them?" Bram was incredulous. "You think the same thing that happened to Tetric is happening to the others?"

Matthias scowled. "Weren't you listening? Libicocco said the entire Elfen nation had been its servants. All the Ahriman needed to do was activate the same ancient curse it had created a thousand years ago. Very soon, this entire city is going to be infested!"

Bram was terrified … but also defeated. His mission was finished. His efforts had failed. There was no point in trying to change his fate.

"Snap out of it, Bram!" Matthias' anger got the knight's attention. "Do the right thing for once and give me the sunstone. I need to take us back to Kish before those monsters find their way down here!"

The old man was right. There was nothing else Bram could do. With great sadness and regret, he took the empty Capricorn Stone and held it out for Matthias to touch. The old man never even met his gaze. He simply placed his fingers on the gemstone's clear surface while looking in the opposite direction. In an instant, all three men disappeared.

* * *

 **End of Chapter 8**

* * *

 **.**


	17. Chapter 9, Part I

**.**

* * *

 **Chapter 9: The Flying Fortress**

* * *

 **Part I**

 _Morning of Quartus, Second Day of Duskmoon_

* * *

Things were out of control. By the time Bram Morrison returned to Kish via the magical Paradox Lute, Allura's plans were in shambles. Jeremiah was furious, and he used that wrath to rally his allies against her. She had never seen him so unwilling to listen to reason. As soon as he detained Bram and his friends, the elder cleric brought them to a small conference room and unleashed his fury.

The One Voice and her partner Isaac kept their mouths shut as Jeremiah wailed against them. Meanwhile, his cronies Simon and Jacob hung on every word. Worst of all was the denigrating repudiation at the mere suggestion that Bram Morrison had been telling the truth.

"You're both fools to believe such a tall tale," he accused. "An empty sunstone? Cursed humans? It's all rubbish, I tell you!"

"But how can we be sure?" Isaac suggested as he pushed the bridge of his glasses up the arch of his nose. "We've never had a means to look inside the sunstone and prove that Lord Zagan is still there. Is it not possible the Ahriman could have escaped long ago?"

"No!" Jeremiah maintained. His forceful response was joined by stone-cold glares from his two companions. "Do you have any idea what kind of disasters those monsters would have left in their wake if ever freed from their prison? The whole world would know if just for a single moment, let alone thirty years since that fink Maurice Vance tampered with our sunstone. There's no way!"

Simon added his two coppers. "I agree, it's preposterous. And I'm sure the rest of the Circle will concur. We should summon them post-haste, so that all are present for this deliberation."

"We shall," Jeremiah promised, "but we're not leaving this room until a few things are settled. First off, Allura … I had better not learn that you colluded with Morrison or his friends behind our backs."

Allura was indignant, but she held her chin high. "That's absurd. Why would I _ever_ —?"

"Is it?" Jeremiah shot back. "We had the perfect mechanism to confront Arcesilaus and learn the truth straight from the Elfen king's mouth. Then _you_ convinced us to put away the Paradox Lute!"

Allura scoffed. "Have you forgotten who we we're dealing with? We had no expectation that Arcesilaus could be reasoned with. Meanwhile, Mister Curtis and Master Deleuze had the element of surprise. Playing the lute would have given them away!"

Jeremiah faced her with arms crossed. "At the same time, we have many unanswered questions that only Arcesilaus could have answered. But now we'll never know. Will we?"

Simon seemed eager to back up the elder cleric. "It's easy for you to defend your position, Madam, but it would have been better for the rest of us to hear it straight from Arcesilaus."

"I agree with Simon," Jacob added. "Now all we have is the traitor-knight and his accomplices, who swear that Libicocco turned the Elfen people into spawn, or some such nonsense. We can't possibly believe a word of it!"

Allura threw up her hands. "Then how would you proceed? All we have is Mister Morrison's testimony. But he's in our custody and the sunstone is back in our possession—so why does it matter what he says? It's true he had tried to deceive us, but it's not as if any harm actually came of it. He came back voluntarily, you know."

Jeremiah glared back as if the One Voice had sprouted a set of horns. "Only because his friend was mortally injured—or near enough. As for no harm, need I remind you of the damage to our temple? Or the destruction of the enchanted mirrors, which had successfully protected our sunstone for centuries?"

"I meant no harm directly from Sir Morrison!" Allura proclaimed, feeling exasperated. "Surely you don't blame him for the mirrors as well?"

"You'd better watch it!" Jeremiah threatened. He then turned to Jacob. "Tell her what you told me right before we convened."

Allura focused her attention on the bald-headed cleric, who stepped forward hesitantly. "Just before Mister Morrison arrived, Madam, we received an update from our scouts at the Elfen capital."

Allura felt a chill, and her gaze shifted to Jeremiah. "Have I suddenly been excluded from our intelligence briefings? Were you ever going to tell me?"

Jeremiah frowned, but said nothing. Jacob cleared his throat and continued.

"I had every intention of telling you, Madam, but Mister Morrison appeared only moments after I heard it myself. I only had enough time to consult with Jeremiah—"

"Well, out with it!" Allura demanded. She had lost all patience with the elder cleric usurping her privileges.

Jacob composed himself and stood a bit taller. "Very well, then. Our scouts revealed some rather shocking news that the township and the palace of Garda have been abandoned. Neither King Arcesilaus nor a single one of his people remain."

Allura felt herself trembling. "What? The whole city? There's no one left? What does that mean?"

Jeremiah gave an audible huff. "It means that Mister Morrison has some explaining to do."

Allura almost felt light-headed. "But wouldn't this seem to suggest that Sir Morrison's accounts might be true. That perhaps the Elfen people have been cursed?"

"Now don't start on that again," Jeremiah warned. "The reports didn't mention cursed humans. They mentioned _missing_ humans. If it tells us anything about Mister Morrison, it's that he's been lying to us about everything. My suggestion is that we interrogate him. Using some more … persuasive means."

Allura's heart lurched. Things were escalating quickly. "What? I can't believe what I'm hearing! Have you lost your mind?"

"Not one bit!" Jeremiah growled. "You listen here, Allura. We have just one mandate, and we nearly blew it for the third time. Mister Morrison is a thief and a liar. Between him and Arcesilaus, we came damn close to exposing the world to the dangers of the Ahrimen. This nonsense has got to stop!"

Allura took a few steps back, finding the wall for support. "But how is it going to look to the world if we—the greatest symbols of peace and life in this world—stoop to torturing a man for information? And a Grigori Knight, no less!"

"No one must know of it!" Jeremiah insisted. "We'll do what we must. And let me be perfectly clear that nothing we discuss shall ever leave this room!"

"But what about his companions?" Allura pleaded. "You don't think they'll find out what we've done?"

"It won't matter," Jeremiah insisted. "I want Mister Deleuze exiled from Vineta … for life! Put him on the first boat out of here tomorrow morning. I don't care where. As for Mister Curtis, we'll treat his wounds—of course. But then our obligation as clerics will end and he can be deported back to Angkor."

Allura slumped into the nearest chair. The wind left her lungs and she barely had the strength to take in another breath. "Has it really come to this? The Circle of Eight … banishing one of our community's most cherished colleagues … then performing interrogation techniques on a Grigori Knight? What next?"

"Whatever it takes," Jeremiah told her coldly. His voice was gruff, but calm and controlled. "I'll give you a choice, Allura. Stand with us, and I'll help you clean up this mess. Then you can continue your little farce as One Voice. But if you stand against me and the vote ends in my favor, I swear I'll cast you out of the Circle as well!"

Allura squealed as the words squeezed out the remaining bit of fight left in her. It nearly brought her to tears. She caught a sympathetic glance from Isaac, but it was not nearly enough. He stood silently as Jeremiah made his power grab. And if he chose not to stand up, no one else would.

"Very good," the elder cleric concluded. Winning the battle seemed to put him at ease. "First things first. Simon, I need you to move Mister Morrison somewhere private. I want him fully restrained so there's no chance of escape. I suggest using the old sanitarium. Jacob, you ready the boat for Mister Deleuze. He's no longer welcome here. As for Mister Curtis … Isaac, I want you to take good care of him. Make sure he doesn't die on our watch."

"And what should we do with the Capricorn Stone?" a meeker Isaac asked.

Jeremiah sighed. "It goes back to where it belongs. Just as soon as we clean up the damage to the temple."

"But how will we protect it?" Jacob asked. "The mirrors were our best failsafe. They were irreplaceable."

Jeremiah nodded. "Aye, I know. But there's nothing we can do about it. That's why I want you to put together an increased security plan by end of day. Noah may have some good ideas. You can ask him for help."

Allura felt her grasp on the clerics slowly slip away. It was the end of her career prospects. Her dreams defeated. Her hope of achieving a higher level of respect within the Circle now gone. At this point, they would only see her as a joke … if they even bothered to look at her at all.

"Listen up," Jeremiah's voice boomed. "I know our job as Protectors just became a lot harder. But that doesn't mean we can quit. The world depends on us! King Arcesilaus caused some permanent damage—but I'll make sure the Elflands answers for it, just as soon as we find out what happened. But right now, we need to put our search for the Elfen king aside until we find a way to keep the sunstone safe. We can't afford to lose it again!"

The others nodded in agreement. Allura nodded, too, but only because she did not want to appear to be in contradiction. She knew that Jeremiah was on the wrong track, but there was no way to stop him. All she could do was see how things played out and hope she still had a place inside the Circle.

She thought about Bram Morrison, the supposed Savior of the Minoan people. He was supposed to be her Savior, too. But sadly, it seemed a former Gnostic in Grigori armor was nothing more than a wolf in sheep's clothing. She had placed a bet on him, and it backfired in the worst way imaginable. Now she was on her own … with no one left to support her.


	18. Chapter 9, Part II

**.**

* * *

 **Part II**

 _Morning of Quartus, Second Day of Duskmoon_

* * *

Samuel marched down the aluminum-clad corridors of the Zounds airship. His destination was his apprentice's living quarters. Kane had not made it to his duties since the previous day, and the rest of the crew was beginning to talk. Of course, Samuel knew full well why Kane had been absent. The former Templar was no doubt experiencing the worst nightmares imaginable, his mind wrecked and in pieces from Samuel's tampering.

After learning that Rosa Reynolds had been inside Kane's Subconscious, Samuel turned to the power of the Sagittarius Stone. His Ahriman, known as Belial of the Cursed Flame, had an ability to cast its shadow onto a person's mind. Once there, it was able to alter certain pieces, thereby robbing a victim of his ability to differentiate figments from reality.

On the plus side, it would prevent Miss Reynolds from the possibility of ever garnering sympathy or compassion. Kane would have no problem killing her on command, if he ever met her again. But on the downside, the trauma likely left him a disoriented and debilitated mess.

This was something Samuel could not afford—not when he was so close to his goal. He needed a capable and functional staff for the days ahead. Virgil was on the cusp of finding the tower's location, and Samuel was certain that Zounds' sensors would soon detect at least one of the moonstones. From his perspective, the moonstones were far more urgent, since they were the only things capable of protecting him from Belial's growing influence.

Sure enough, things were coming together. And once they did, he would have access to the tower's inner cloister. And then … all the might and power of the Heavens would be his!

But there was much to do in the meantime. He had waited a day for Belial's shadow to do its work, but now he needed Kane to get back to work. Getting him lucid was his top priority.

When Samuel finally reached Kane's quarters, he found his apprentice huddled in a dark corner of the room, rocking back and forth with his head in between his knees. His eyes were bloodshot and distant, and his face glistened with sweat. He mumbled something incoherent under his breath and seemed not to notice as Samuel approached.

"Apprentice, what are you doing?"

His voice got Kane's attention, but he appeared to be in a fog.

"Your colleagues informed me you never showed up for duties yesterday."

Kane made eye-contact, but only briefly. They then darted back and forth across the room, as if Kane failed to recognize his surroundings. A small sound came from his trembling lips, but nothing that sounded like words.

Samuel was never all that good with patience, but he knew in this case that he needed to be tactful and delicate. If he were to jar his fragile apprentice too hard, he would risk fracturing the man's wounded psyche. So he kept his voice soft, but firm.

"Kane … you had best start explaining yourself."

"I …" Kane worked his jaw. He seemed to struggle with the words. "I … believe I have taken ill."

Samuel looked down through his Gnostic helm, offering Kane his gauntleted hand. "Then we had best find a wizard for that."

Kane looked at it curiously. Perhaps he never expected to receive such courtesy, but Samuel held it steady. With hesitation, Kane unwrapped his arms from around his knees and took Samuel's hand. The knight pulled gently, which was enough to bring Kane to his feet instantly.

"Can you walk on your own, or shall I send for someone to carry you?" Samuel did not intend to sound facetious, but he wondered if Kane might perceive it that way.

Fortunately, the former Templar shrugged it off. "I can make it."

Samuel led him out of his sleeping quarters and into the empty corridors of the Zounds airship. Kane swayed back and forth as he walked, shielding his eyes from the lights with his hands. But slowly, he made his way forward.

When they reached the medical bay, Samuel ordered his staff to attention.

"A patient needs tending!"

The two on-duty wizards nearly dropped what they were doing to provide service.

Kane was led to a table and asked to remove his shirt. Both wizards began a series of incantations meant to check for vitals, followed by routine triage. A flurry of blue sparks landed on Kane's chest.

When the light show faded, one of the whites addressed their master hesitantly. "My Lord … the patient appears to be experiencing intense pain, but there doesn't seem to be anything wrong with him physically."

"Unacceptable." Samuel was not one to let his servants off the hook too easily, especially when he knew full well the reasons behind Kane's suffering. "You haven't checked hard enough."

The wizards exchanged uneasy glances. "I'll examine his mental condition," one of them offered. "It's possible his symptoms have been brought on by heightened stress, but it would be unusual for emotional distress to manifest itself as physical anguish so quickly."

Samuel addressed the one who spoke, keeping his voice deep and foreboding. "James, is it? I'll say this only once. I care not for explanations. I want results. When I first asked you to join me, it was because you were the best in your field. Was I mistaken?"

"No, my Lord!"

James had immense powers in white magic. He had excellent career prospects during the War, but often found himself unemployed during peacetime. Samuel found him working in an old library in Niedam for an old wizard who vastly underutilized his talents. When Samuel offered him a position with his usual promises for power, James nearly jumped at the chance to leave his old life behind.

But, of course, the trick to maintaining a steady workhorse was in keeping the carrot dangling directly in front of the nose. And at the same time, constantly remind them that the price of failure was to have it taken away. Fortunately, James seemed to understand Samuel's reward system quite well.

Pushing the other wizard aside, he leaned close to Kane and placed his fingers along his head and temples. Finally. The wizard's expression seemed to signify results.

"It's worse than I feared," he announced. "The Subconscious is in shambles. The personas have … merged into a single entity … and the deviants have taken control. I've never seen anything like it. There might be some answers in the Memories, but it could take days before I find anything useful."

"We don't have time," Samuel explained. "I need him functional now."

He would have also been happy to give James until the end of the day, but he figured he might as well start by setting the bar high.

The result was worthwhile. James looked anxious, but determined. The white wizard took a deep breath.

"In that case … I can create a temporary persona. It's something of my own design. I call it Obedience, and it can keep the Subconscious under control for a time. Of course, it has some limitations. Don't expect the patient to be capable of making any complex decisions. He'll follow orders, but that's it."

"It's good enough. Do it."

James closed his eyes and spoke more words of magic. "There. Almost done. Wait … what's this?"

Samuel was intrigued. "What do you see?"

James scrunched his face, his expression shifting between curiosity and repugnance. "It's some kind of … dark presence. It's taking control of the new persona."

"Leave it," Samuel ordered. "We're finished here."

"My Lord, wait," James argued. "This is the source of the patient's issues. I can destroy it. I'm sure of it."

"Don't go near it," Samuel warned. But he was too late.

James opened his eyes, and a look of utter terror was frozen in his expression. He screamed, then suddenly his flesh turned a deep red. Veins protruded, followed by a sharp sucking sound. Very quickly, the white wizard's skin shriveled until his desiccated corpse fell to the side, landing on the ground with a thud. The other white wizard also fell to the ground from the shock. He shimmied backward, fully trembling, until he was firmly against the opposite wall.

"Stand up," Samuel ordered, but to no effect. The young wizard looked absolutely terrified.

Samuel walked over and grabbed him by the robes, dragging him to his feet.

"Vincent, is it?"

The frightened wizard brought his arms up to his face, as if to shield himself from Samuel's blows. But the knight had no intention of striking the younger wizard. After grabbing Vincent's wrists, he forced his hands down so he could speak to him calmly.

"I need you to get ahold of yourself. Are you fit to serve me, or are you not?"

Vincent took a break from his heavy breathing to respond. "Ye—yes, Sir."

"Then I want you to go back to the patient and wake him."

Vincent shrunk away from Samuel's glare. "But … but the dark presence … you saw what it did!"

"Steer yourself away and it won't hurt you. Now, I want you to go and wake the patient. Do not make me ask again!"

Vincent shook visibly, but he crept his way toward Kane. His eyes went pleadingly to Samuel, but the knight would not allow his subordinate to back down. He kept a steady glare until the white wizard followed in James' place.

After a few minutes of probing Kane's head, the white wizard took a few steps back. "There. I've done as you asked."

Kane opened his eyes. He looked inquisitively around the room, slowly taking in his surroundings.

Samuel approached. "Apprentice, tell me how you feel."

Kane raised himself to a sitting position. "Better."

The former Templar turned to the man cowering just a few steps in front of him. The wizard looked paralyzed in fear.

"What's his problem?" Kane asked.

Samuel turned toward Vincent. "Leave us." He would have to deal with him later. The wizard was more of a coward than he thought, and there was no way he could let such a man remain in his service.

Vincent wasted no time. He dashed out of the room as fast as his legs could carry him. When he was gone, Samuel probed further with Kane.

"Do you remember what happened?"

Kane blinked. "I'm sorry about all this. All I remember are a bunch of nightmares. I feel foolish."

"Don't," Samuel told him. "I'll explain why this happened to you."

Kane gave the knight his full attention. "What is it?"

"It was the prisoner," Samuel revealed. "She entered your mind and released a series of repressed memories."

Kane looked remorseful, and Samuel was ready to seize on it.

"The day you went to visit her, you left behind a photograph, didn't you?"

Kane nodded slowly.

"She used this photograph to tamper with your mind. Let this be a lesson to you, Apprentice. Never underestimate a wizard's power … especially from a woman willing to use your own heartstrings against you."

Kane's expression turned dark—another emotion on which Samuel hoped to capitalize.

"It makes you angry, doesn't it?"

Again Kane nodded. "I feel many things. Anger … confusion … embarrassment …."

"Harness those emotions, Apprentice. Our plans are too important to be felled by the likes of _her_."

Kane scowled. "Yes, my Lord. I understand."

Now was Samuel's chance to clinch it. "Do not fear. I'll give you an opportunity for retribution. When I give the word, you will be the one to kill her. Is that a task you wish to partake?"

Kane's grimace deepened. "Just say the word."

Samuel smiled. "Good. Now go, and return to your duties. You're a day behind, so I'll expect you to work twice as hard to prepare for my brother's return."

Kane got up, redressed, and walked out of the medical bay as if nothing had happened. Samuel could not have been more pleased.


	19. Chapter 9, Part III

**.**

* * *

 **Part III**

 _Afternoon of Quartus, Second Day of Duskmoon_

* * *

Quon Nan's ship landed at the docks near Kish around mid-day. The chartered vessel had sailed east from Loulan for three days, across the body of water known as the Tyrene Sea—a channel that connected the Great Ocean in the south with the Glacial Ocean to the north. It was the most direct route.

Having considered the dangers ahead, he had ordered his Kenju Warriors to remain behind in Loulan. They would have gladly risked their lives if he had asked, but Quon believed they had already given too much. They had been victims of Abaddon's evil spell and forced to commit atrocious and inhumane acts. He did not want to risk a single one of their lives in a battle against the Ahrimen, much less their souls.

Besides, Koba still needed their Kenju Warriors. They had their lives and families to attend to, and while their courage was valiant, more warriors would not have mattered against the immortal Ahrimen. The only thing capable of defeating these monsters was the powers of the Grigori. And only one man on the planet had that power.

Quon hoped he would was not too late in catching up with Bram Morrison. Though the Kenju Master had no special skills in magic to contribute, nor ancient Grigori powers to draw upon, he still prided himself in his agility and ability to outmaneuver his foes in combat. In fact, his quick thinking and nimble movements had enabled him to retrieve the Pisces Stone during the battle with Abaddon, which Bram had used to defeat the hideous creature. Quon expected his talents would come in handy again, and he hoped that Bram would see it that way, too.

As he disembarked, he noticed a familiar face seated on a bench among a group of travelers waiting for their next ship. It was the gray wizard Matthias, except he seemed downcast and broody. His eyes were hidden behind bushy white brows, but Quon imagined them to portray deep sorrow.

Being both curious and concerned, the Kenju approached the old man. "Master Deleuze? My eyes do not deceive me, do they?"

Matthias looked surprised to see him and quickly replaced his glower with a polite smile. "Master Nan … you're the last person I ever expected to see here. Did you just arrive?"

Quon joined the old wizard on the bench. "I did, though I might say the same about you. I had expected you to be with Sir Morrison."

The breath from Matthias' sigh blew at the wisps of his mustache. "Alas, it seems our adventure is at an end. Our friend the knight made a series of foolish mistakes … and now he's being held by the clerics under lock and key. Meanwhile, I'm on my way out of this country … forever."

Quon could not believe his ears. "I do not understand! What happened?"

Matthias stood up and offered to take a walk to someplace where they could speak more candidly. Quon followed him to a sandy path that ran along the coast. The cold and salty air bit through his light leather jerkin, but he pressed on to hear Matthias' story.

They gray wizard explained everything that had happened since Bram's agreement with Kane. He described the commitment Bram made to the clerics, which the knight had no intention on honoring. He went on to describe the journey to Garda, being captured by Arcesilaus' archers, and dining with the Elfen king as he tried to enlist them in a failed attempt against the clerics.

Of course, Bram fell right into Arcesilaus' trap, which ended up exposing Libicocco as the true force behind the sunstone's theft. And to make matters worse, the stolen sunstone was actually empty, indicating that Lord Zagan had already escaped. But by the time Bram and Matthias found their way out of Libicocco's clutches, they ended up facing the wrath of the clerics—who by then had discovered Bram's deceit and demanded justice.

Sadly, they refused to believe the knight's accounts of what happened. Instead, they accused Bram of being the real thief and put together a plan to interrogate him. Cedric, who had been wounded during the escape, was currently receiving treatment. However, Matthias received exile as part of his judgment, which explained why he was at the docks, currently awaiting deportation from his own country.

"The thing is," the gray wizard lamented, "Bram failed at being a leader. He's made far too many mistakes, and even if the clerics did let him go, I just can't see myself or anyone following his lead anymore."

Quon thought he understood most of the explanation, which on its own was just as unbelievable as his escape from Angkor. But he could not understand why Matthias felt it was all Bram's fault.

"Why let Bram bear the blame?" he wondered. "He has steered us rightly so far, and we would not have been able to defeat the Ahriman controlling King Richard without him. I think we owe him for that."

Matthias halted his stroll and planted both hands on his hips. "With all due respect, Master Nan, you haven't seen the changes that have come over him in the past week. And it's all due to that sunstone he carries."

Quon shivered at the wizard's implication. "What do you mean?"

Matthias shook his head. "I'm talking about the Pisces Stone—the same one Bram obtained from King Richard. It has the Ahriman known as Abaddon inside of it, and this creature has been tempting Bram to use its power ever since leaving Angkor."

Quon gasped. The revelation took the breath right out of him. "What? Are you saying that Bram willingly used the Ahriman's powers?"

The gray wizard nodded. "At first, he probably thought he could handle it. And maybe, he believed it was the only way to get out of a tough situation. But now, he reaches for it on a whim. There's no doubt the demon has a hold on him."

Quon started to feel lightheaded. He had placed all his hope in Bram, and yet after less than a week the Ahriman was poised to corrupt him. And if it were to succeed, all hope would be lost!

But, perhaps Matthias was wrong. Quon needed to be sure. "How do you know?"

The old man shrugged, a glib reaction given the gravity of what he had just said. Had the wizard truly detached himself so thoroughly? The Kenju Master understood that Matthias must be feeling intense pain at being forced out of his own homeland. He also figured it made sense that Matthias would look for someone to blame—and it sounded like Bram had done plenty to earn the old man's ire. Even so, there were more important things at stake!

"Please, Matthias," the Kenju begged, "tell me what more about the changes in Bram's behavior. How can you be sure that he is under the Ahriman's spell?"

The wizard strutted forward, once again commencing his stroll. "I've been observing Bram quite a bit. I see how protective he's become of the sunstone—not to mention paranoid about how others perceive him using it. He obsesses over Miss Reynolds, acts impulsively, and gets the rest of us into trouble. And he forgets that we're just trying to help. What he said to me … just before we escaped from that wretched cellar … I'll never forgive him for that."

Quon sighed. Matthias was a man who had spent most of his life in academia. Men like that tended to be shielded from other personalities. Bram was a soldier, and forced to take leadership in a situation with so many risks and dangers. It was only natural for him to lash out on occasion, and someone like this old wizard might not have a good way of contextualizing that behavior.

Quon tried to explain. "Matthias, I do not pretend to know the personal nature of what happened between you two—but from what you described, there does not seem to be anything terribly unusual about Bram's behavior."

The old wizard arched his brows. "Nothing unusual?"

The Kenju raised his hands in the universal sign of patience. "Hear me out."

Matthias rolled his eyes but gave the Kenju Master his full attention.

"Keep in mind that Bram's experience as a Gnostic Knight is likely working against him. He spent many years in King Richard's service as the leader of a highly disciplined and effective—albeit brutal—offensive corps. And believe me: it is not easy for a man like that to change. He is no doubt feeling a great deal of stress, now that he must be conscious of how his actions affect the safety and well-being of those around him. Men in that position are bound to occasionally buckle and make mistakes. But, I think if he was willing to return to Kish and face the clerics' wrath, then deep down he must care for his friends."

Matthias' expression suggested he still did not agree with the Kenju Master's assessment, but Quon was not willing to give up. "Sometimes … good leaders must face impossible choices, in which there is no one left to blame when things go wrong. This has been especially true for Bram, who must balance the fate of the world against the life of someone he loves. I for one would not want to be in his place."

Matthias looked down at the ground and sighed. "Yeah … I see your point."

Based on the wizard's hesitation, Quon suspected there was more. "Matthias, we have not known each other for long, but I do know this: When we needed to work together to defeat the Ahriman and escape Angkor's Substratum, you and Bram made a good team. So I cannot believe that you would turn away from him now—or that you would allow yourself to be exiled from your own homeland without a fight—unless there was something else wrong. So I ask you, from one man to another, please tell me what it is."

Matthias rubbed his face with his free hand. Internal conflict was written all over his face: furrowed brows, a slight perspiration at the hairline, and creases of stress around the lips. He was delving deep for an answer—no doubt about it. "It's … complicated. And I'm not even sure, myself."

Quon reached out to give the old wizard some encouragement. He tapped him on the shoulder gently. "Please try."

Matthias leaned heavily on his staff while wiping the wetness around his eyes. The Kenju Master waited patiently as Matthias told him about his struggle with the deaths of his wife and daughter, and how Bram had accused him of valuing vengeance over his duty to protect the sunstone.

The pain was palpable. Quon's heart sank at the tragic tale. He could not imagine living with himself if the same had happened to Katharina. And though he had no daughter of his own, he hoped to have one someday. So the fatherly instinct ran deep. Moreover, he had experienced tragedies with many of his own men, who had lost sons, daughters, mothers, and fathers during the War. Death affected men differently, and for Matthias it was surely a burden that on some days was too much for him to carry.

"Matthias, I am so sorry …."

There was not much more he could say, and sadly it was not enough. The old wizard's expression was listless.

Quon tried to tie things back to Bram. "Again, I do not know what Bram said to you, but I am sure his intent was not to belittle your suffering, nor was it an attempt to use your tragedy against you."

"No, you don't understand," Matthias responded. "Bram was right."

Quon took a step back, shocked to hear such a response. "What do you mean?"

The gray wizard huffed. "It's probably what made me so angry. As much as I hate to admit it, I think it's true that I'd put vengeance ahead of anything else."

The Kenju Master stared at the old man, completely caught off guard. "You really think you would do that, if it came down to a clear choice? Do you think that is what Angela would have wanted?"

Matthias scoffed and dismissed Quon's question with a wave of his hand. "It doesn't matter. I don't even want to tempt myself anymore. The hatred is killing me from the inside. Every day, I think I age another year as I struggle to keep my priorities straight. That's why I'm ready to get on a boat and get out of here. The last thing I want is to be in a position where I have to choose whether to seal the fate of the world, just so I can feel better about Angela's death."

Quon stepped forward once again to place his hand on Matthias' shoulder. "Then rest easy, friend, for your conscience is already functioning properly."

The gray wizard scrunched his face in an expression of utter skepticism, but the Kenju Master held fast with his position. "You are supposed to feel conflicted when love and duty clash. It hurts, all the way down to your very core. But it does not need to be something that you suffer through alone."

The old wizard's shoulders sagged, and a gentle sob escaped his lips. But Quon pressed on. "When the pain becomes unbearable, turn to your friends. If you do not think you can make the right decision, allow Bram or myself to make it for you. If there is one thing a soldier learns on the battlefield, it is to rely on his comrades for help."

Matthias once again hid his face in his hand, trying to stem the flow of tears. Quon hoped he was getting through to the old wizard.

"Bram needs our help, my friend—and we need him, too. None of us can stand against the Ahrimen without his Grigori powers. And if Bram fails … we all lose hope."

By now, Matthias had plenty of tears to wipe away, which he tried to do with rapid swipes from his hand. "Alright, dammit. I guess I'm in."

Quon beamed, happier than ever to hear the old wizard's curses. "So where do we find Bram?"

Matthias took a deep breath. "Unfortunately, it's not that easy. He's locked under heavy fortification, and the clerics are going to be watching to make sure I'm on the next vessel out of here."

"Then we must deceive them," Quon answered. "We need to make them think you are on that boat. I am certain with your expertise in magic, you can figure out a way."

The old wizard chuckled. "Yeah? Then what? Perhaps you didn't hear me, but Bram's locked up. What would you propose? Break him out of jail, steal the empty Capricorn Stone, and dare to use it to bargain with the enemy?"

Quon cracked a smile. It was time to use the old man's sarcasm against him. "That sounds like an excellent plan, Master Deleuze. Mind if I join you?"

Matthias must have thought it was a joke, because he laughed right back … until his face went blank and his brows crossed.

"Are you out of your damned mind? I might have a few tricks up my sleeve, but I'm no match against all eight of the clerics."

"I am not suggesting we break through the front doors," Quon explained with a look that was deadly serious. "Once we fool the clerics into thinking that you are gone, we can catch them off guard. Then, when nightfall breaks, I will sneak into the Nexus alone. I have performed missions like this one before. As long as you can direct me to where you think they are keeping Bram, I will take care of the rest."

"Oh, yeah?" Matthias challenged. "What if they catch you?"

"I will take the risk," Quon answered with conviction. "But it will not affect you one bit. If I am captured, then you can take the next boat and sail on out, for all I care."

Matthias crossed his arms decisively. "No way. I'm not looking to save my own hide. If you're willing to take the risk, then I'll stick around to back you up."

Quon could not help but grin. "Now that sounds more like the Master Wizard I know."

"Don't thank me yet." Matthias warned, though he followed it with a genuine smile. "Besides, you were right about Angela. She'd never forgive me if I quit now. I pledged to protect the sunstones and serve justice to those responsible, and I plan to keep my word."


	20. Chapter 9, Part IV

**.**

* * *

 **Part IV**

 _Afternoon of Quartus, Second Day of Duskmoon_

* * *

Géorg was beginning to think he was in over his head. His first day in the role of Minister of Security was a nightmare. For one thing, his duties were immense. Not only was he responsible for the king's protection and well-being, but his ministry also ran public safety governance for the entire kingdom. The sheer workload was daunting!

Fortunately, he was given his own staff, an indispensable team for dividing a nearly insurmountable workload. This included hearings for the scores of envoys who traveled to the capital each day, pleading for assistance against local bandits or criminal brigades.

The kingdom had over three hundred towns, hamlets, and farming communities, most lacking the resources to adequately enforce law. So whenever local forces were overwhelmed, the people would turn to the king—whose administrators would then direct to Géorg's office. It was Géorg's responsibility to dole out the kingdom's limited enforcement squads. Fortunately, he did not need to meet with each of the petitioners individually. For that, he delegated the work to his team.

Of course, there were some audiences that Géorg could not avoid. Usually, these involved the nation's wealthier and more powerful citizens. Crimes such as fraud, embezzlement, extortion, and blackmail all had dedicated tribunals that were well equipped to dispense justice. Even so, there were certain individuals who still insisted on taking their cases directly to the king. The Kitezhian nobility was notorious for bypassing local government to escalate their petty grievances. Come to find out, pampering this class of bluebloods was one of the ways the Brandt family had kept its loyalties—and King Unruh aimed to continue this practice.

He therefore ordered Géorg to give any aristocrat his personal assurances, which Géorg made sure to do with all the grace and confidence he could muster. The new minister was eager to prove himself worthy of the title, even though he had little experience in dealing with so many petulant complainers. Most new ministers entered the job with years of politics under their belt, but Géorg had none. Catching up took long hours … and plenty of patience.

For a battle-hardened former soldier who had lived most of his life in poverty, it was often difficult to muster the necessary composure and self-restraint. Most of the people he spoke to had no idea what hardship meant. They spoke down to him, acting as if their social status had earned them the king's ear, and Géorg was just a barrier to them getting their own way. It was complete rubbish! Then again, no one said a good job had to be easy.

His first day began with tackling a backlog of requests that had been piling up since Unruh vacated his old position. Naturally, this led to a barrage of impatient and unhappy subjects. At least Géorg received plenty of encouragement from his staff. They praised him for his effort and promised it would get easier as time went on. But by the end of the workday, he needed something to get his mind off of the insanity.

His first thought was to get some exercise. Now that he had his newly-regenerated right arm, he had an opportunity to rebuild his skills in swordsmanship. Given that he was likely to end up in a battle against Angkor someday, he wanted to brush up on his combat training. Just as he was thinking about who he might ask for some private lessons, he walked right past Lady White's scrying room.

Not too long ago, she had revealed that he was one of those rare individuals who produced manna naturally in his body, and with the right training, he could use it to cast white magic. While aboard the airship that had led the attack on Angkor, he had successfully drawn from this manna to produce the communications portal that allowed his king and generals to watch. And he wondered what else he might be capable of doing, once his skills were properly honed. Perhaps combining swordplay with sorcery might help him to become a better soldier. He decided to enter Lady White's special chamber and request a lesson or two later in the week.

Much to his surprise, the wizardress welcomed him eagerly—and it just so happened that she was free to start immediately. He explained his desire to use magic to protect himself in battle, so she prepared a complete lesson in combat defense. She told him that with enough practice, he could use simple spells to deflect arrows and bolts, or to knock down opponents using words of power.

The training was more than he had expected. Earlier when practicing magic, he had performed the spells through meticulous memorization, each a step by step exercise until he was able to copy Lady White's instructions exactly. But now, she wanted him to understand the fundamental principles behind magic, and that was a completely different way of thinking about it. It was more like a foreign tongue—easy to mimic at first, but with a far steeper learning curve the more he dug into it.

It turned out that on the battlefield, defensive spells could be cast without a lot of forethought or preparation. Even so, the incantations were verbally intensive. Inflection had to be perfect, but fortunately the volume did not. With some practice, he would be able to whisper his spells—which actually sounded easier, given the contortionist movements his tongue needed perform so he could utter the right syllables.

It was only his first lesson, but Lady White did not go easy on him. She sparred using magical forces meant to simulate enemy weapons. If Géorg missed his parry, the return strikes were meant to hurt.

"Use your words, Mister Töller, not your sword," the wizardress coached.

Géorg cursed as another bolt struck his backside. He spun around furiously, ready to prepare another incantation, but another bolt struck him before he even had a chance!

Lady White was quick to correct him. "Do not waste effort guarding your flank. Let your magic be your eyes and ears. Forget everything you learned in combat training, because it will not help you here!"

Géorg trained with Lady White for more than an hour, taking a full beating in the process. By the end of the exercise, his clothes were soaked in sweat. Interestingly, very little of the exercise had been physical movement. Rather, his body seemed to be responding to the manna drain more than anything.

"Well done, Mister Töller," Lady White commended. "For a first-time effort, you performed most admirably!"

Géorg thought he had done terribly, but he was too tired to argue with the powerful sorceress. "Thank you … my Lady," he said instead between heavy breaths.

"Come in!"

Lady White's invitation seemed out of place until Géorg heard a knock at the door. He grinned, always enamored with the way the white wizard showed off her prescience. When the door opened, one of Unruh's aides entered.

"My Lord," the small dark-haired man began, "the king wishes to speak with you."

Géorg felt a twinge of anxiety, hoping he had not lost track of time and missed any scheduled appointments. "I am not late to any meetings, am I?"

Fortunately, this messenger was quite familiar with Géorg's itinerary. "No, sir, you are not. I assure you. Rather, His Majesty has made an unscheduled request."

"But … I just spent the last hour in intensive activity. I must stink!" Géorg sniffed under his arm and quickly withdrew his head from the odor.

The messenger raised his eyebrows patiently. "Would your Lordship care for some advice?"

Géorg was always happy to receive assistance from the experienced administrative staff. He nodded vigorously.

"My suggestion is that you bathe afterward. It is better to … stink … than to keep the king waiting."

A quirky smirk from Lady White suggested that she felt the same way.

Géorg felt embarrassed, but he threw on a clean shirt, hoping it would mask the musk. He had grown up in a household where proper hygiene could not wait, no matter what he thought was more important. Géorg enjoyed the brief memory of his father, whom he missed ever since his untimely death during the War. But it served as a reminder that he was no longer in his father's home. He would need to get used to the new rules.

"Please, take me to him," he requested.

The aide led Géorg to a private room on the third floor of the inn. King Unruh was just concluding his prior meeting. Upon seeing Géorg enter, the surrogate king nodded to his attendant, and both aides left the room.

He offered a welcoming smile. "Mister Töller, I trust that you are settling into your new role?"

Géorg bowed, though he was still self-conscious about his appearance. "Yes, my Lord. Though I apologize for how I must look. You see, I have been training after hours and—"

Unruh laughed. "No need to apologize. I asked for you without notice, after all."

Géorg joined his king with a forced chuckle. "Of course, Sire."

Unruh's smile faded, and in an instant he was all business. "Let us get to the point, then, shall we?"

He directed Géorg to a nearby table and then sat directly across from him. "It has come to my attention through a contact in Vineta that the prince has been sighted."

Géorg's felt a surge of excitement, making him wonder if Konrad knew about it. "Master Brandt? His presence has been confirmed?"

He wished he had not sounded so excited. His last conversation with Konrad had ended on a very sour note, and he had still not forgiven his friend for ruining his evening. Still, he hoped that the awkwardness would pass and things would get back to normal. Konrad might act like an ass sometimes, but he was still the best friend Géorg had.

Of course, the look on Unruh's face suggested the surrogate king had far more than just information on the prince's whereabouts. He looked withdrawn, and his eyes shifted rapidly. Something was wrong, but Géorg waited patiently for his liege to continue.

"Yes," Unruh finally confirmed. "Though, sadly, he has been badly injured. It explains why we had not yet heard from him."

Géorg's breath caught. The prince's disappearance was already a scandal around town, and rumors of his exploits abounded. The real question, though, was how he ended up in Vineta rather than returning home directly. Géorg yearned to ask, but first he had to show some manners.

"That is terrible news, my Lord. Will he be alright?"

Unruh sighed. "Yes. He is under the clerics' care and is expected to live."

Géorg could not tell if Unruh was saddened by Józef's injuries, or perhaps disappointed that he had survived them. Clearly, there was a reason why the king had chosen to involve his new Minister of Security before making the matter public knowledge. So he tried again to spur the conversation.

"Is there anything you need from me, Sire?"

Unruh's tone brightened. "As a matter of fact … there is, Mister Töller. As you probably know, the prince's return could be highly disruptive to our nation's recovery."

Géorg remembered all the things that Konrad had told him about Prince Brandt having the legal authority to demand the crown upon his return. Such a thing would be disastrous. The boy's naiveté and lack of experience would be the worst thing for the country—especially now with the threat of Angkor looming. Then again, perhaps Unruh had a plan to prevent that from happening. Perhaps he was searching for allies.

He felt the time was right to draw Unruh's unspoken request out into the open. "You would like to know where my loyalties lie, in case the prince seeks the crown. Is that right, Sire?"

A twinkle entered the king's eyes. "You are as astute as I had hoped, Mister Töller. And what do you say to that?"

Géorg returned the look with confidence. "I intend to honor my oath, of course. I believe this country needs a stable leader, and I do not think the prince is capable of protecting us in our time of need."

Unruh breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you. I was hoping you would see it my way. You are a gentleman and a friend, and I shall not soon forget it."

"Then tell me: What do you have planned?" Géorg pressed.

Unruh stood up from his seat at the table. "It is still too early for me to reveal the details, but the prince's delay gives us time to prepare. I must go for now but will contact you again soon."

With that, the king left the room. Géorg instantly felt the weight of his decision. It would likely put him at further odds with Konrad, not to mention one step closer to the future foretold by Lady Black. It was clear that Prince Brandt was the wedge that would divide a nation. But no matter what, Géorg was committed to preventing things from escalating to a civil war. He loved his country, and he would do everything in his power to put an end to any bloodshed!

In the meantime, there were still plenty of petitioners to deal with. And, hopefully, enough time for training. But, with nothing else pressing at the moment, he returned to his quarters to bathe.


	21. Chapter 9, Part V

**.**

* * *

 **Part V**

 _After Midnight of Diapente, Third Day of Duskmoon_

* * *

Snow fell in swift flurries, carried on the currents of a howling wind. A storm had struck, sending most of Kish's citizens home early to light their fireplaces and warm their hearths. But not all. Stationed around the Nexus were the men and women of Kish's Archer Defenders. In response to the clerics' plea, these warriors took up arms and upheld their sacred duty.

For generations, these warriors had successfully protected their city from invaders. Unlike other large settlements, Kish had never built surrounding walls. They were seen as obstructions to nature and despised by Vineta's woodland culture. Instead, the people relied on the might and precision of the bow, which they combined with white wizardry and cover from the forest. Altogether, it created a force to be reckoned with. Only several hundred archers had been enough to defend the city from any threats it had ever faced.

Two centuries earlier, they had encountered their greatest test. A nomadic tribe along the Glacial Coast aimed to claim new land by sending thousands of brutish warriors into the forests near Kish. None made it out alive. The archers had proven their worth as the cleric's main defense and ever since dissuaded other aggressive neighbors from staging similar attacks.

Quon Nan had studied Vinetan history and knew the sheer difficulty of overcoming these forces. But by exploiting the snowstorm for cover and using his skills as a Kenju, he felt he stood a good chance.

When midnight came, he met with Matthias for reconnaissance. Since sundown, the Nexus had been cordoned off and all visitors turned away. The hospital wards and study areas were locked, and students were warned rather harshly not to trespass after dark. Anyone roaming the campus at that time would risk being mistaken for an intruder and shot.

Matthias explained all the traps and sensors that Quon would need to look out for. Any of them could trigger an alarm that would have hundreds of sentries converging on his location. These included the clerics' most trusted white wizards, whose magic would stun and incapacitate a person in an instant.

As for Bram's location, Matthias believed the knight would be held within the old sanitarium, a treatment center once used for mentally ill wizards. It had long since been decommissioned, but the rooms were still heavily fortified with thick iron doors and gurneys capable of restraining a wizard's mouth, arms, and legs.

By today's standards, these precautions were considered barbaric. Even so, there was a time when mental illness—especially among wizards—was feared and misunderstood. Anyone suspected of unstable tendencies or erratic behavior was confined and subjected to harsh experimental treatments. Back then, without these measures, society would have rejected the magic community outright. Had wizards not stepped forward with proactive stances, aggressive therapies, and a path to rehabilitation, a rebellion among the masses was almost inevitable.

Fortunately, all the years of study since eventually led to medical advances capable of curing most mental disorders. And as violent incidents declined, the fear of dangerous or unstable wizards became a thing of the past. Now that this ugly part of history was behind the clerics, they shifted their focus to more humane treatments. They closed the old sanitarium, hoping its sordid history would one day disappear from memory.

As for Matthias, the gray wizard planned to stay as far away from the Nexus as possible—at least until Bram was found. Otherwise, patrolling wizards would detect his magic and use their combined forces to take him down. Despite his heightened powers, he would still lose a battle against so many. So instead, he prepped Quon by enchanting him with various charms and protections.

The old wizard was clever not to do anything that would leave a trace for other wizards to detect, but he still included a number of rather useful items. One of these was a charm on Quon's clothes that prevented light from reflecting, making him blend with the shadows in any dark corner. He was also granted extra speed and ability to scale walls—even those with flat surfaces.

Lastly, there was the matter of finding Bram's specific location. Matthias had no way of knowing precisely where the clerics were keeping him, so it was up to Quon to find out. When the Kenju Master reached his mark, he would operate a special device—something the gray wizard had acquired from an old friend in town who had owed him a favor.

Once activated, it would transport Matthias to the device's location from anywhere in the world—all without leaving a magical signature. But in order for the plan to be effective, Quon had to be in the right place at the right time. Otherwise, there was no reversing the process—even if it brought Matthias to the middle of a battle he could not win.

The last part of the gray wizard's plan involved Bram's Grigori powers. As far he knew, no other wizard could detect them, which would give him and Quon a distinct advantage. With those powers, they hoped to find the Capricorn Stone, which they still needed as a means to barter with their enemy.

Quon's first objective was to reach the Intensive Care ward at the east side of campus. Entering through one of the patient's rooms would give him the best chance of avoiding sentries, not to mention the one patient in particular who he believed would be willing to help. But in order to reach the patient's upper-floor window, he had to scale the nearby buildings and make his way along the rooftops.

Most of the Archer Defenders and white wizards were stationed near the main building, the one containing the temple and its sunstone. However, a nearby storage shed containing grounds-keeping equipment was just beyond their view. Quon approached from this direction, using brush and hedges for cover. When he reached the shed, he used the enchantments that Matthias had given him to creep up the back wall.

He crawled onto the roof slowly, squirming along his stomach bit by bit, avoiding any sudden movements. He did not want to tip off any of the sentries from the main building. Fortunately, the blizzard had intensified, creating a useful barrier that even magically enhanced vision would have trouble penetrating. Even so, Quon waited for his opportunity, remaining motionless as icy winds nipped at his nose.

A gust of wind blew, and a heap of snow fell from the towering boughs above him. It was the perfect cover. He got up and bolted to the roof's edge. With the grace of a tiger, he leapt to the branches of the first tree. From there, he jumped again, this time touching down atop a trellis built to guide summer wisteria. He quickly traversed the length of the platform, glided through the air to another tree, and then to his destination—a small balcony just outside one of the patient's rooms.

The window was of course bolted with a simple lock, but he had brought a shiv to force it open. With the subtlety of a python, he slithered to the bedside and wrapped his arms around the young man sleeping inside. In one continuous motion, he cupped his hand across the man's mouth to stifle the expected scream of surprise.

Quon forced Józef Brandt to look into his eyes while he held an index finger over his lips. He held on firmly until recognition set in and the heir of Kitezh relaxed. Slowly, Quon released his grip.

The young king was flushed, but he remained calm, speaking in hushed tones. "Master Nan, what are you doing here? If the clerics catch you, they will lock you up for trespassing … or worse!"

Quon helped the young king into a sitting position before joining him at the side of the bed. "Forgive me, Your Majesty. I did not want to alarm you, but I need your help. How much do you know about what happened to Bram since he arrived back from Garda?"

Józef's eyebrows went up meekly. "I was there … and the clerics were furious. They took Bram and Matthias away and would not tell me anything. I know he gave them the impression that he intended to betray them, but it has to be some kind of misunderstanding. Right?"

Quon took in a deep breath. "I ran into Matthias shortly after arriving here early this afternoon. Apparently, the clerics agreed to have him exiled, and they plan to interrogate Bram about what happened in Garda."

Józef shook his head violently. "Unbelievable! Bram told them what happened when he arrived. Why do they not believe him?"

Quon sighed. Poor Józef was just too young to understand. "It is because the truth is embarrassing to them. Bram learned that the sunstone no longer contains the Ahriman inside of it. And if he is right … then the clerics failed to protect it. Not only that, but their failure must have taken place a long time ago. Imagine that for a moment. To them, it is easier to believe that Bram is lying … that he somehow hides the real truth. By punishing him, they not only escape their own guilt, but possibly also the retribution from the rest of the world for failing to protect the sunstone."

Józef's shoulders sagged. The prince might have been young, but at least he caught on quickly. Quon told him the rest of the story, too, including the bargain that Bram made with Kane Harding in exchange for Rosa's life.

"Bram made a judgment call not to involve the clerics," Quon explained, "but his gamble ended badly. I believe we are past the point of talking our way out of it, so I teamed up with Matthias to break Bram out of his detention."

Józef's eyes went wide. "But that would be incredibly dangerous! Did you know that they have threatened to shoot trespassers on sight?"

Quon nodded. "I am willing to take that risk. Bram is our only hope of facing the Ahrimen. We cannot allow the clerics to detain him any longer."

"But must you do it tonight?" Józef reasoned. "Could you not lay low and wait until they move him to a less secure location?"

Quon shook his head. "Unfortunately, we are only a day away from the deadline he made with Kane. If Bram misses it, we will lose our only chance to get the upper hand. We cannot let that happen!"

Józef turned away, and for a moment Quon thought the young king was having second thoughts. But then he faced Quon with resolve. "What can I do to help?"

Quon felt relieved, but he had known deep down that Józef would come through. He could not hide his smile. "I will prove to Your Majesty that your trust in us has been well placed."

Józef returned the smile, looking almost eager to get into mischief. "We are friends, Quon, and my trust in you has never wavered. I will do what I can."

Quon bowed his head. "Thank you, Your Majesty. All I need is visibility into the adjacent room. I need to know if there are archers or wizards patrolling the area. You can be my eyes and ears. This is a patient's ward, so they will surely be more careful before they open fire. And if you do see anyone, I will need you to cause a distraction."

Józef's brows furrowed. He looked determined, perhaps even happy to be out of bed and useful. "You can count on me, Master Nan. All I need are the crutches behind the bed."

As Józef pulled his sheets off and swung his legs over the bedside, Quon saw the prince's mangled feet for the first time. Several toes and large portions of the heel had been surgically removed, and it made Quon's heart ache. Had he been in Józef's place … had he lost the ability to run, leap, or perform his beloved martial arts … he would have lost the will to live. As for poor Master Brandt, the heir of Kitezh might never walk on his own again. Even so, Józef had a strong will. Once equipped with his crutches, he left the room without complaint. Quon felt a certain pride and honor to know such a strong boy. One day, he would become a fine king.

As soon as the door swung shut, Quon crept close and put his ear to cold wood. He heard the hollow thonks of Józef's crutches as they struck the hard marble floor. It was quickly followed by voices urging him to return to his room. The prince was a quick-thinker when it came to excuses. He complained about cramps in his legs and cold drafts in the room. He said he needed a walk to circulate the blood. There was a shuffling of feet, followed by a loud crash.

Quon hoped it was the diversion he needed. He quietly opened the door and slipped out into the ward. From his vantage point low against the wall, he saw several white wizards helping Józef to his feet. It appeared as if the young king had fallen against a series of carts containing medical supplies, which must have sent the contents crashing to the floor. With the wizards distracted, Quon snuck along the walls until he reached the stairwell to the lower level.

He tip-toed his way down until he caught sight of a lone sentry at the base of the steps. Quon waited for him to turn around before silently dashing behind him. Further on, he ducked into a dark recess as a group of archers walked past. In another instance, he found himself in a large atrium with nowhere to hide. Instead, he climbed up one of the marble columns and wedged his body into a corner of the ceiling. Holding his breath, he waited until the two white wizards passed below him.

Quon continued in this fashion through multiple corridors until he reached the passage that Matthias had described. It included an old rickety stairwell off to the side, which led to a dusty basement. Spindles of cobwebs dangled from every corner. A thick layer of dust covered the floor, all except for a series of fresh footprints. They led to a heavy bronze door, presumably the gateway leading to the old sanitarium. Quon's job was to get through the magical lock using a special tool that Matthias had provided.

The lock itself appeared like an average deadbolt, but the tumblers inside only responded to a specific magical incantation. Quon was able to reproduce the equivalent of that magic by activating the tool, a small disc divided into concentric rings. By manually turning each ring, he could attempt to reverse-engineer the combination. All it required was sensitive hearing to detect the subtle movement from the tumblers inside.

Unfortunately, it was likely that wizards roamed the inside, and more might very well arrive to replace their colleagues at regular intervals. The passageway offered no hiding spots, and Quon would be trapped if anyone else descended down the same stairwell. He had no choice but to work quickly and finish before the guard changed shifts.

Wasting no time, he placed the disc up against the lock. With agonizing precision, he rotated the rings while listening for the slightest of sounds. He closed his eyes and concentrated, attuning his senses to the smallest of movements. He could almost feel when one of the rings neared its mark. With a slight nudge, he opened the first of the tumblers and moved on to the next one.

A trickle of sweat rolled down his neck. It took him ten minutes to complete the first five parts of the lock. He began work on the sixth and final piece when a glow began to emanate from the base of the stairwell. Someone was coming down! He had no time to waste. Holding his breath, he turned the ring, hoping it was close to the right position. When he felt the familiar resistance, he stopped, gave it a tiny nudge, and felt the last piece of the lock slide into place. With his adrenaline pumping, he opened the great bronze door, slid inside, and closed it behind him.

Fortunately, his timing could not have been better. With any luck, he could follow the new sentry directly to Bram. If not for this opportunity, it would have taken him all night to search through the dozens of passages and old patient rooms.

The light turned out to be from an orb that circled two white wizards. Quon waited in a dark corner until the wizards relocked the bronze doors and continued their path into the old sanitarium. Quon followed the dim glow of their light source but kept his distance. He was not a good judge of a wizard's senses and did not want to follow too close.

Eventually, the wizards led him to a corridor containing two of their colleagues. Quon stayed behind the last bend to avoid being seen, but he listened in as the wizards began to converse. The empty walls carried their voices with a tinny echo.

"You two can go," one of the arriving wizards announced, a middle-aged man with a crooked nose.

"Any news from up above?" an older gentleman with a beard asked.

Crook Nose shook his head. "No. Any would-be thief would be foolish to enter the Nexus tonight."

"Then what are we even doing down here?" the first wizard's colleague asked, a man with a dark goatee.

"You're not down here to protect the sunstone," Crook Nose corrected. "You're here to watch over the one inside that room."

Dark Goatee peered through the glass pane outside the door. "What's so special about him? He's been fully restrained all day and hasn't moved a muscle."

"You mean you haven't heard?" a fourth wizard asked. A hood hid her face, but her voice was enough to suggest a woman. "He has special powers and almost succeeded at stealing the sunstone. Supposedly, his magic is unique, and other wizards can't detect it."

The bearded man scoffed. "Nonsense!"

"No, it's true," Crook Nose maintained. "Rumor is that the Elder of Minoa partnered with Arcesilaus to steal the sunstone, and this man here invoked the power of the demon inside. That's why he's able to call upon his unique powers at will."

Quon groaned inside. These wizards could not have been more wrong, but it was clear they were motivated by fear and loyalty to the clerics. Quon waited a while longer for the conversation to conclude, then he stepped back toward the opposite corridor until the second pair of wizards was long gone. If he was quick enough, he hoped to incapacitate the two remaining wizards before they had a chance to cast their magic.

He waited for them to settle in to what they might think was a boring night of guard duty, and then he struck. The Kenju Master dashed around the corner and came in swiftly, using a sweeping kick to knock the female off her feet. When it came to Crook Nose, he jabbed his fingers straight into the man's throat, ending his spell chanting non-lethally. Before the female had a chance to recover, Quon spun around and put her into a choke hold until she passed out. Crook Nose took flight, but Quon caught up to him. Using a similar grip, he took the wizard slowly to the ground.

At last, Quon peered inside the cell to confirm that Bram was inside. It was a bit hard to tell, but there appeared to be a man securely strapped to a gurney on the far end of the room. He did not have a good view of the man's face, but he figured it was close enough to summon Matthias. As soon as Quon activated the device, the wizard materialized out of thin air.

It took only a moment for him to get his bearings. He pointed his staff at the cell door. "Is this the one?"

Quon nodded and gestured with his head toward the two unconscious wizards. "I needed to take down a few sentries, but they are still alive. I do not have a direct visual on Bram, but I have no doubt that he is the man inside."

Matthias took in a deep breath that jostled the ends of his mustaches. "Good enough for me. Let's get inside."

The gray wizard reached for the door's latch when a woman's voice spoke out from the dark nothingness.

"Stop!"

"What the—?" Matthias reached into an invisible space off to the side and grabbed onto something. He gave it a good yank and out of the void came Allura.

"Look what we have here," Matthias crowed with a menacing look on his face.

"Wait," she pleaded. "Hear me out, and I'll explain."

Matthias let go of her arm, but he did not look too happy to see her. Allura took a step back, her face flushed. "I'm sorry it came to this, my old friend."

"Don't give me any of that friend crap," the gray wizard snarled. "You stood right in front of me when the others passed judgment, and you said nothing. You exiled me from my own homeland!"

"Shh—not so loud," she warned. "There are many ways for them to hear us inside this place. You must believe that I never wanted to go along with Jeremiah. But I had no choice!"

Matthias kept his voice low, but it was no less harsh. "What do you mean?" He advanced on Allura with a balled-up fist.

Quon felt himself shrinking back from the wizard's rage. He thought it best to try to calm the old sage before he did something he would regret later. "Not here, my friend. Save your anger until after you hear her explanation."

Quon had never met the beautiful cleric, but her face looked sincere. That did not mean she was truthful, but at least it was worth hearing her out.

She held her head up high. "Jeremiah whipped the others into a frenzy just before you returned. He was so sure that you had taken flight with the sunstone that it took us all by surprise when you suddenly appeared before us. Though, I suppose that based on the circumstances, the clerics wanted something more satisfying than Bram's explanation. If all he said was true about cursed humans and Ahrimen on the loose … well then it would mean the whole world was doomed. That's why he insisted on getting rid of you, so he could interrogate Bram without interference. I tried to stop him … but he threatened to exile me too if I didn't go along!"

"But you believed him, didn't you?" Quon asked. "Bram, I mean."

Allura looked hesitant to admit it, but she finally nodded.

Matthias' anger receded, though the smirk on his face seemed to suggest some pleasure out of what the One Voice had said. "So … the old coot's finally lost it."

The One Voice huffed. "Can you blame him? He knows what lives inside the Capricorn Stone. In fact, he's spent most of his life protecting it. So show some respect."

Quon was surprised to hear Allura remain loyal to the elder cleric, especially after all the trouble he had caused. He wondered if, deep down, she respected Jeremiah's efforts, even when she vehemently disagreed with his methods. Meanwhile, Matthias scowled, though he withheld his usual comebacks.

The One Voice continued. "Don't be mistaken. The other clerics are not your friends, and they intend to follow Jeremiah as he attempts to persecute you."

"But why?" Matthias demanded. "Can't we convince them that their little squabble with Bram is nothing compared to what else is out there … like the Ahrimen?"

Allura looked saddened. Her voice was soft, but steady. "They're afraid, my friend. They've spent their entire lives protecting the sunstone, and now the thing they've feared the most has finally happened. Most of them can't even handle the thought of it. It's much easier to believe that Bram is a fraud. Even so, I couldn't allow them use him as a scapegoat. Lord Zagan is out there, somewhere. That's why I came here to help."

After all the warnings Quon had heard about Allura, the Kenju Master was amazed by her explanation. And by the look on Matthias' face, so was the old wizard. Unexpected or not, he still welcomed any assistance. "Time is short," he told her, "and we need to get Bram out of here before anyone else learns that we are here."

"Not so fast," Matthias challenged. "How do we know we can trust her? Or that the other clerics aren't monitoring her?"

Allura scoffed. "I took the necessary precautions!" Of course, the look of skepticism on Matthias' face did not waver.

She took a step forward, her voice now softer and more understanding. "I know we've had our differences in the past, my friend. But there was once a time when we weren't at odds with one another."

The old wizard's face began to soften, but Allura pressed on. Quon had no background on what she was referring to, but he stood aside to let her finish.

"I know why you blame me for the things that happened to you so many years ago, but know this: You were there for me when I needed someone. You believed in me … understood my goals and ambitions and encouraged me. You knew what it was like for a woman in Vineta at that time to rise among the ranks of the wizard community."

She gestured to the body of the female wizard, still unconscious on the floor. "At least it's a bit more common these days for women to reach more powerful roles. But years ago, I was alone in that endeavor … and the glass ceiling seemed nearly unbreakable. I've never forgotten your kind words and all the nights you kept me company … and I'm sorry for the harm I caused to your private life. Truly, I am."

Quon's heart felt heavy at hearing Allura's tale. The patriarchy in Koba was equally entrenched, not to mention still firmly in place. His father for one had a strong opinion of where women belonged, and he remembered the sadness in his mother's eyes when Wong Fei belittled her dreams and aspirations. It was only by meeting Katharina and being exposed to her more liberal side that Quon began to see how backwards and ugly his father's beliefs had truly been.

The gray wizard's stern look appeared to melt, accentuating the wrinkles in his cheeks and forehead. "I guess I never realized you felt that way." His voice was begrudging, but sincere. "We clearly have a lot to talk about, Allura, but now is not the time. Like Quon said, we need to get Bram out of here before anyone else comes down to check on him."

"Oh, that reminds me!" She spoke a word of magic and a small metal cube appeared in her hand. "You'll need this to enter Bram's cell. That's why I stopped you earlier. If you had tried any kind of force, it would have alerted all of Kish."

Quon was relieved to see her come forward with something helpful. He truly believed that she could be trusted.

She took the metal cube and placed it on the door. It stuck, at which point she uttered a few words of magic.

"We can now enter," she announced. A simple pull on the latch, and the door swung wide open.

Quon and Matthias ran to the man whose body was covered head to toe in cloth and leather bonds. Quon removed the restraints from around Bram's mouth, and sure enough, the Grigori Knight looked stricken with surprise. "I can't believe you came. I thought for sure—"

"Of course we came," Matthias assured. "We weren't gonna let them make you the scapegoat."

Quon added his own encouragement. "The world still needs you, Bram." He released the clamps around the knight's ankles and helped him to a sitting position.

Bram immediately looked downcast, and his gaze hit the floor. "I was a fool. Forgive me for what I said to you back in Garda, Matthias. I wasn't myself, and—"

"Not here, Bram." Matthias shook his head firmly.

Bram nodded in understanding and looked out to Quon. "My friend, I am even more surprised to see you. I never expected you to leave your homeland again for me … but I'm glad you did. Thank you. I promise to make your efforts worthwhile."

The Kenju Master beamed. "And I will hold you to that promise, my friend. But first, we need to get out of here. Allura has offered to help us."

He gestured to the cleric standing a few spans away. Bram must not have realized she was there, since his eyes went wide at the sight of her. His mood darkened as recognition settled. "You shouldn't trust her, Quon. She's one of them!"

Matthias stepped between her and Bram. "Easy, there. If not for her, we wouldn't have made it past the door. I believe … I believe her intentions are good."

"But how can you be sure?" Bram pressed. "She lied to us with the Paradox Lute, which she had used to spy on us. How do you know she's not here on behalf of the others? It could be another trick to track our next moves!"

"Mister Morrison," Allura sidestepped around Matthias and placed herself in front of the knight. "I've put myself at significant risk to come here tonight. And though I realize that words alone might not convince you, I aim to try. Let me start by confessing one more lie, which has been on my conscience for a long time."

Quon's stomach clenched. "So you have been lying to us?"

"It's not what you think, Master Nan," the One Voice insisted. "It has nothing to do with what I've done or said to you directly. Rather, it's a lie I've been propagating to everyone for a very long time. Even so, it ends here. I've reached the point where even I must face the truth. Just please … do not be alarmed by what you see."

Quon watched as the beautiful woman transformed. Her long black hair turned white, and wrinkles appeared all over her face. Her tall stature grew bent and elderly, and her lavish clothes became plain and simple. Quon watched with shock at the unexpected changes, until he realized there was nothing to fear. The only one standing before him was a grandmotherly individual.

The old woman who had once been Allura looked at her gnarled hands with sadness. "It's been a long time since I took this form," she admitted. "As such, it would be proper if I introduced myself by my real name. So please … call me Madeline."

Bram shook his head. "But … why? I can understand a person wanting to make themselves look younger, but are you saying that Allura was a disguise you wore in front of everybody?"

Madeline sighed. "I know what you must think, Sir Morrison, but I did not take that form out of vanity. Rather, I was an old fool who believed that no one would take me seriously if all they saw was an enfeebled octogenarian. I wanted people to respect me for the power I'd earned through years of study and hard work. But in this society—as well as many others on this planet—they'd sooner walk me home and demand I go to bed than to hear my thoughts on any matter of importance."

Bram seemed to understand. His eyes brimmed with sympathy.

"It's ironic," Madeline continued, "that I would choose this time to expose my lie, while at the same time asking you to trust me. But I figure that in so doing, it would impress upon you my willingness to end the fiction that I created. My only motivation is to finally expose the truth about what had happened thirty years ago when Maurice Vance came to the Nexus to study our sunstone."

Quon nearly jumped. He was joined by Bram, who leapt off his gurney fully alert. Matthias, too: the old wizard gripped his staff so hard his knuckles turned white.

"Not here," Madeline insisted. "If you want to hear my story, then all I ask is for a bit of faith." She spoke some words of magic, and a magical portal appeared to her right. "Step inside, and when we reach our destination, I'll explain everything."

Quon read the hesitance on Bram's and Matthias' faces, and it spoke volumes. The portal could very well take all three men back to the clerics' clutches … or it could lead them all to the answers they had yearned so long to hear.

Quon was a spiritual man. Not many others still believed in Gaia, but Quon and Katharina still said their prayers together every evening. He wondered if he could also place his faith in this woman, who had confessed to years of struggle within her patriarchal society. She had even gone so far as to mask her true age in order to garner respect. It was true that she had lived a lie, but somehow she trusted Quon and his friends enough to expose the truth—which must have taken great courage. For that reason, Quon felt that Madeline deserved some trust in return.

"I will go with you, Madeline," he promised, drawing the attention of his comrades.

"Are you sure, Quon?" Bram asked.

The Kenju Master nodded. "I do not give out my trust that easily, but in this case I believe Madeline has earned it." He reached out to his friends. "Bram … Matthias … please join me."

Bram and Matthias looked at one another, then stepped forward. Quon felt fortunate to have companions who trusted each other enough to follow into unknown territory.

"After you, Madam."

With a smile, the old cleric walked into the portal and disappeared. Quon followed, and the first thing he saw was a bright flash of light ….

It took a moment for his vision to clear. But then he found himself in a wide open field. The blizzard had mostly dissipated, but a slight snowfall remained. Moonlight shined through the clouds, giving Quon just enough light to view his surroundings. It was serene … almost beautiful.

"It's the Commons," Bram announced. "And look there … Cedric!"

The knight ran over to his friend, who was lying on a blanket atop the snow, beside a hooded man in white robes. The only light came from a glowing orb that stayed close to the white robed man. When Bram approached, the man removed the hood.

"Isaac, it's you!" Bram looked surprised.

"Yes," a spectacled cleric replied. "Don't worry about your friend. He's going to be all right. We've mended his wounds, and I expect a full recovery. All he needs is to take it easy for a few days, so that the magical bonds have a chance to set."

"Why did you bring him out here?" Bram demanded.

"Peace, Sir Morrison," came a voice from the shadows. Madeline stepped out of the darkness into the dimly lit snowfield. "After tonight, you and your friends must stay far away from here. Once Jeremiah learns what I have done, he'll become a powerful enemy. I can't allow anyone besides myself to face his wrath. Not even Isaac."

"Which I'm not too happy about," the spectacled cleric admitted. "I wish you'd reconsider a way to cover your tracks."

Madeline shook her head. "You know I can't do that. Jeremiah will need someone to blame, and I won't accept any more false accusations."

"Why not come with us?" Quon suggested. "We can protect you."

Madeline looked torn, but she remained resolute. "This is the path I've chosen, and I'm committed to it. Besides …." The old cleric removed a clear-looking gemstone from her cloak. "With the sunstone gone, Jeremiah will need to accept the truth, sooner or later. I must be there to help him through it, if Vineta is ever to become relevant in the days to come."

Bram's eyes went wide. "It's the Capricorn Stone! But … how?"

"I cast an illusion in its place," Madeline explained. "The clerics will know the difference, eventually, but not until they examine it closely tomorrow morning. I want you to take it and find where your enemy is hiding."

Quon could not believe his eyes, and clearly neither could Bram. In Madeline's hands was the elusive object that Bram had fought so hard to obtain. It nearly cost him his soul, tore his friends apart, and made him a victim of the cleric's retribution. And yet, it was nothing more than an empty vessel, one which the clerics protected out of dogma and stubbornness. Quon could not imagine what the knight must have felt when he accepted it with outstretched hands.

Bram looked at the object curiously, as if finding it hard to believe it was finally in his grasp. "Madeline … I won't forget this."

Much to Quon's surprise, the knight embraced the old cleric. She tenderly returned the gesture with a few taps on his shoulder.

"There, there. I should have done more to support you. Alas, now you know what men are capable of when under pressure. Jeremiah may seem like an awful man at times, but you should know that his heart is in the right place. I'm sure he'll come around eventually."

Bram looked out into the snow-swept fields. Not far away, the Heron was waiting. But before he headed off, Madeline reached out to him.

"Before you go, I had promised you the truth about Maurice Vance. And I believe it's time for someone to know what really happened."

Now it was Isaac's turn to regard his colleague with surprise. "What do you mean, 'the truth about Vance?' That was so many years ago. Is this something I don't already know?"

Madeline let out a heavy sigh and reached out with her hand. She cupped it around Isaac's cheek, lightly caressing his silver stubble. "My dear friend … please don't think any less of me for what I'm about to say. I've never told anyone, you included. Not because I didn't trust you or value your loyalty. It was because I had made a promise … a promise I dared not break until now."

Isaac grasped the old cleric with both of his hands. "Madeline … nothing shall ever come between us. Whatever you say … it won't change the way I feel about you."

She blinked several times, as if trying to hold back tears. "Very well then. The truth about the Capricorn Stone … is that it's not an empty sunstone at all. In fact … it's a fake, produced by Vance's apprentice."

"What!"

Bram had been the first to voice his shock, but the simultaneous gasp from the others nearly sucked the oxygen out of the air.

"I know this must come as a shock, but you'll understand after I explain. It all started thirty years ago … when Maurice and I … were in love."

Quon felt a chill in the air that had him huddling for warmth. Isaac must have picked up on his movements, because the spectacled cleric uttered a few words of magic that raised the temperature of the nearby air considerably.

"Thank you, Isaac," Madeline commended before continuing her story. "Our love affair had actually begun long before Maurice visited the Nexus. As you might recall, the cover story—which I came up with myself—claimed that he would research the cure for a certain horrible disease affecting old wizards. But in fact, I helped him because of what he had told me concerning his research into Minoan history. Apparently, he learned of a very special Convergence that was supposed to occur sometime in the next twenty-five to fifty years."

"A convergence?" Quon asked, unfamiliar with the term.

"It's an alignment of celestial objects," Matthias explained.

"That's right," Madeline affirmed. "Every so often, rare events occur on the celestial scale—usually an alignment of planets or stars—but in this case, something even larger."

"How large?" Matthias asked.

"Galactic level." She must have noticed the confused look on Quon's face, so she elaborated. "All the stars you see in the night's sky are actually part of a much grander object called a galaxy—and ours is just one of many in a much larger universe." Quon tried to absorb that kind of scale but was met with little success. He knew that certain wizards studied the night's sky, but he had never gone out of his way to learn much about it.

Madeline continued. "For the purposes of cataloguing and studying our galaxy, scholars subdivided the regions and gave them certain names. Some of these names have changed over the years, but Minoan history had records of the originals. Well … it just so happens that this Convergence involves the alignment of four sectors known as Pisces, Gemini, Sagittarius, and Capricorn."

Bram put his hands to his head in a eureka moment. "The same names as the sunstones!"

Madeline nodded. "Maurice Vance was convinced that the naming was significant, so he used his knowledge of history to pinpoint the creation of the sunstones, as well as the next period at which the Convergence would occur. It just so happens that this cycle lasts about a thousand years."

Quon finally understood. "That was roughly the age when mankind fought against the Ahrimen. And since it has been about thirty years since Maurice Vance vanished, the end of the cycle must be imminent. But, what does that mean for the sunstones?"

"All correct, Master Nan," Madeline praised. "That's precisely the question that Maurice and I had sought to answer."

Bram let out a deep breath. "So that's why you helped him."

"Yes," Madeline admitted. "Using my connections within the Nexus, I helped him reach the Capricorn Stone without anyone knowing."

Bram's eyes looked hungry for answers. "So … what did you learn?"

Madeline sighed. "At first, nothing. All attempts to study the sunstone were met with failure. Maurice spent weeks conducting experiments. But with all his prodding and expertise, he failed to record even the slightest reaction."

"No doubt the sunstone still had the magical lock from the Enchantment placed on it," Matthias posited. "All other researchers before Vance had failed for the same reason."

Madeline pointed at Matthias like a schoolteacher commending a student for a correct answer. "Exactly right. So of course, we were discouraged. We came close to quitting, too, believing it was all just a fruitless effort. But that's when things started to change."

The old cleric took a deep breath before continuing. Quon hung on every word. "One day, Maurice approached me with a starry look in his eyes. He nearly smothered me with affection while he explained that his experiments had finally yielded their first results! Of course, I went to the temple to see for myself. And sure enough, the sunstone had a deep amber glow at its core. It was nothing more than a novelty at first, but nevertheless Maurice treated it as a triumph of his hard work. And of course, it encouraged him to do more. Day by day, his successes mounted. He took greater risks, too, obsessed in how deep he could delve. He was giddy over the progress, and so was I. But still, something bothered me …."

Madeline put a hand to her face. Her lips trembled, but Quon could not tell if it was from sadness … or fear. Isaac put an arm around her shoulder to comfort her.

"What was it?" Quon asked. "Why were you so concerned about Maurice's progress?"

Madeline pulled herself together and gave Isaac a pat on the arm. "I was merely incredulous that so much progress could be made in so short a time. After being dormant for centuries and impervious to all experimentation, suddenly the sunstone was a toy for Maurice to manipulate. The breakthroughs came too quickly. So, naturally, I wondered why."

By now, Bram and Matthias were nearly shoulder to shoulder with Quon, captivated by Madeline's revelations. Quon could not hide his impatience. "So then what happened?"

Fortunately, Madeline was happy to oblige. "One night, after Maurice had nearly collapsed from exhaustion and lack of sleep, I brought him to his bed and returned to the temple myself. On the way, I ran across one of his apprentices."

"I think I know who," Bram suggested.

Madeline regarded him curiously.

"It was the Elder of Minoa, wasn't it?" The knight held a complex expression, as if hoping his guess was wrong.

Madeline shook her head. "Not quite, Sir Morrison. Of course, you are correct that Minoa's current Elder was indeed one of Maurice's past apprentices. His name is Christian, and I have since lost touch with him. In fact, it was quite a shock when I finally learned that he had migrated to Minoa and worked his way up to the position of Elder. I believe that his motivation was in part to continue Maurice's research."

The knight looked like he was calculating something in his head, something Quon felt he would have benefited from hearing aloud. When the knight finally spoke, he sounded uncertain. "But I thought for sure …. Madeline, you said earlier that the Capricorn Stone was a fake, created by Vance's apprentice. I had assumed it was the Elder, since he had once told me that he and Vance were once colleagues. But if Christian wasn't the man you saw that night, who was?"

Madeline's lips tightened. "Maurice did indeed have a second apprentice. The man had a strange name, too. I believe it was something like … Galiver."

Quon, Bram, and Matthias nearly jumped forward simultaneously, eyes bulging. Madeline gawked at them, looking confused.

Quon tried to clarify. "Was the man's full name Galiver Givry?"

Madeline's mouth hung open. "Yes, I believe it was. How did you know?"

Bram spoke through clenched teeth. "Galiver Givry is a pseudonym used by the man responsible for all of this … Virgil Garvey."

Quon shook his head. Something did not seem right. "But it has to be a coincidence," he argued. "Thirty years ago, Virgil would have been a child."

"Not necessarily," Matthias pondered. "He could be using magic to alter his appearance, making himself look younger, similar to the technique that Madeline had used to create Allura. Although, he'd have no reason to hide his age. So I suppose it's also possible that the Virgil we know is a different person, and he merely took Galiver's name as an alias."

Bram shook his head. "I don't think so, Matthias. The name itself is an anagram. If you rearrange the letters, Galiver Givry spells Virgil Garvey. It's too much of a coincidence. Let's just let Madeline finish her story. It might make sense by the end of it."

Quon agreed, and he shifted his attention back to the cleric. He could tell from the expression on Madeline's face that her story was going to take a dark turn.

"I followed him back to the temple. He didn't notice me, but his movements were suspicious. When we arrived, I couldn't believe my eyes … or my ears! He spoke aloud to the sunstone, and a short time later, a terrible voice answered him back. Dear Zohar … I'll never forget that sound …."

Bram and Quon exchanged uneasy glances. "Lord Zagan? What did it say?"

Madeline nodded. "I didn't stay long enough to find out. I ran."

Quon tried to put it all together. "So, Galiver must have been the one who unlocked the power of the sunstone. Maurice thought his experiments had succeeded, but it was Virgil all along!"

Madeline's lips pressed tightly together. "Yes. I told Maurice all about it, and he was heartbroken. He wanted to think that he had succeeded, but deep down, he knew he hadn't done anything extraordinary. He had been blinded by his own ego, and he knew it. By the time we returned to the temple, Galiver was gone—never to be seen from again."

"But what about the sunstone," Quon asked. "What about Lord Zagan?"

Madeline shook her head. "I don't know. But the sunstone stopped responding to Maurice's magic. It looked the same, but we both knew that Galiver had taken the real one and replaced it with a fake. Sadly, we couldn't prove it. Because of our deceit, we feared what would happen if the other clerics learned the truth."

"So you lied all this time?" Matthias challenged. "Someone walked off with the prison of the most powerful demon ever to exist, and you stayed silent?"

Madeline nearly sank to her knees before Isaac helped to steady her. "Yes, I was careless and a fool!" Tears streaked down her cheeks. "Maurice offered to go after his apprentice and bring back the sunstone, but I never heard from him again. So what was I to do? I knew the trail was long gone, so confessing my crimes would not have helped at all. And the more time passed … the more life went on as usual … the easier it was to maintain the lie."

Bram shook his head. "You must have felt that no harm came of it, because otherwise, you would have known. We all would have. But it seems that though the world remained safe, Lord Zagan could have been plotting his schemes all this time."

Madeline nodded meekly, and it was clear she was holding in a lot of pain.

"But what of the stories?" Matthias questioned. "Vance's experiments eventually became public knowledge. And the stories said he had ended in failure."

Madeline sobbed a couple of times and wiped her eyes. "That was Jeremiah's idea. He read Vance's journals and mistook them as the ravings of a delusional thief. I think he figured that by discrediting Maurice's research and ruining his reputation, it would dissuade others from attempting the same stunt. So he told the public that Maurice disappeared because of the embarrassment of his failed experiments. Then he disposed of the journals—or so I thought. I suppose they ended up at the Angkorian Archives, but I don't know exactly how they got there."

Madeline finished, and for a while no one spoke. Quon was sorry to hear that Jeremiah's stubbornness had been the same contributing factor to the cleric's complacency as it was now. It seemed there was plenty of blame to go around.

As for Virgil, he likely tracked the journals all the way back to the Archives. Or perhaps he had been directly involved with their transport, hoping to someday use their contents to convince a future king to go along with his plans. Meanwhile, Vance never emerged from hiding. And of course, Madeline hid their secret, because telling anyone would have exposed her as an accomplice.

Madeline finally broke the silence. "I hope everyone understands the significance of what we've learned today." Her words recaptured everyone's attention. "I've carried this secret for thirty years, and you are the first ones to learn the truth. Even so, within moments you made a critical connection—one I had missed all this time. This proves that I was right about you! You were meant to protect the sunstones, and I just know that you can bring the ones behind their theft to justice."

Bram nodded with conviction. "You have my word. We'll find the real Capricorn Stone, Madeline. And when we do, we'll return it to where it belongs."

Madeline's smile was filled with gratitude. "I know you will."

Quon and his friends bid the two clerics farewell. With Bram's help, he carried the still sleeping Cedric on board the Heron. Before taking off, he looked out at the snowy field, where he witnessed Isaac and Madeline heading toward the Nexus, hand in hand.


	22. Chapter 9, Part VI

**.**

* * *

 **Part VI**

 _Afternoon of Diapente, Third Day of Duskmoon_

* * *

While Quon Nan traveled with Bram Morrison on a harrowing journey to defeat the Ahrimen, Zhao Peng kept watch over the Kenju Master's beloved Katharina. The strong independent Kitezhian woman had plenty of company at House Agriculture, but unfortunately Quon's absence was still hard on her. Zhao often found her staring vacantly out of her bedroom window, as if imagining her husband on the other side.

Katharina must have missed him dearly, but it was not just her lover's absence that drove her depression. Rather, Zhao suspected it was because Quon had left Koba to follow his heart, while Katharina was unable to do the same.

For her, incessant complacency was an ever-present and painful barb. Neither she nor Quon coped well with inaction. Koba's new emperor was preparing his people for a senseless war, but instead of being given a chance to intervene, Katharina was told to mind her place. Zhao knew she would not remain silent forever, but he wondered how he could ease her discomfort without opening up a dangerous path.

Unlike Zhao, Katharina had never been exposed to Koban politics. She did not understand the risks, while Zhao had been immersed in it ever since he was born. He knew how corrupt and nefarious Koban politicians could be … and, at times, quite dangerous.

Part of the problem was the power that the Koban people afforded their leaders. For reasons of expediency, the country had long ago decided to allow shortcuts and immunities, including for things that other nations would have found unthinkable. The Koban culture detested bureaucracy, and thus leaders with too much power became more palatable than stalling justice or legislation due to lack of consensus.

Even so, Koba had a mechanism for dealing with out of hand emperors: the Grand Council. The members of this body could replace their ruler at any time from one of Koba's five houses, and their job with Liu Qin was to ensure his demands aligned with the nation's interests. Unfortunately, the country was also steeped in fear over a retaliation from Angkor, which awarded Liu Qin with more than the usual latitude. Zhao now worried whether Koba's system of checks and balances would function when needed.

During the former emperor's tenure, Zhao too had experienced situations where he was tempted to take shortcuts. Some of them would have hurt the Koban people along the way. Fortunately, Zhao possessed the temperance to resist and the patience to find alternatives. Sadly, he could not say the same for Liu Qin.

Koba's new emperor posed a very serious threat to the nation's future. Katharina was not wrong to call him a warmonger, and all the signs pointed to set of policies that would lead to heavy casualties for the Koban people. There was too much at stake for Zhao to lay back and do nothing.

Then again, things had changed since his removal from office. He had once boasted strong ties with the Grand Council, but lately its members seemed to avoid him. Ever since Liu Qin took control, Zhao struggled to maintain his inside view of the administration. Even after setting up several appointments with old colleagues, he was surprised to find them all canceled at the last minute. He even crossed the paths of some Councilmembers on the streets of Loulan, only to watch them scurry past without even noticing him. One time, Zhao had even shouted their name, only to watch his pleas go ignored. It was true that Kobans believed retired rulers should fade away to a quieter life, but never before had he seen councilmembers react so blatantly rude. They were consciously avoiding him.

Zhao had to learn more. He needed to understand how Liu Qin was instructing his Council and determine his strategy. Zhao contemplated a solution for several days and finally found something.

There was an upcoming conference that Liu Qin scheduled to summarize his agenda to the entire Grand Council while also allowing time for questions and answers. The venue had a history of extending invitations to the lords of each of Koba's five houses. Of course, in practice the invites were merely a courtesy. Few lords actually attended, since non-sitting houses avoided the appearance of crashing the new emperor's agenda. But for Zhao, it was his best chance.

The event was scheduled for later that evening. He was discussing his plans with his chamberlain when Katharina walked into the room. Zhao wondered if she might have been eavesdropping outside the door, waiting for just the right time. If so, her exuberance would have been most unfortunate, since Zhao was not yet ready to involve her.

"Is it true that you plan to attend a conference with Liu Qin?" she asked, very much to the point.

Zhao sighed. So much for hoping otherwise. He asked his chamberlain to give them some privacy. When the man was gone, Zhao addressed her. "It is nothing to get excited about. The conference will hopefully provide a basic sense of the emperor's strategy, but I do not expect to learn much. Even so, I will tell you everything upon my return."

Katharina bit her lower lip, as if unsure of the appropriateness of her question. But after a moment of hesitation, she asked anyway. "I want to come, too, Milord. I do not mean to burden you, but I want to hear it myself."

Zhao wished he could say yes, but conferences with the Council were not meant for uninvited guests. Putting aside the fact that they would discuss top secret matters of national security, Katharina had several other factors working against her.

Sadly, one of these was the nation's archaic stance on women. Koba had yet to advance their equal protection laws, which gave a cover for conservative Councilmembers to deride those they deemed to be beneath them. Not even the Councilwomen from the liberal western provinces were immune. It was a touchy subject. Few Kobans were willing to admit to the issue, and even fewer discussed it publicly. Zhao had certainly seen enough in his lifetime to leave him disgusted.

As if that were not bad enough, Katharina's birthplace also counted against her. Not so much for younger Councilmembers, who had always lived with Kitezh as their western neighbor and ally. But the older Councilmen remembered the border disputes of fifty years ago, which ruined relations on both sides. To them, Katharina was an outsider whose only connection to Koba was through a weakly recognized interracial marriage.

Even worse, word had spread of Quon's absence-without-leave to nearly all levels of the Koban government. As expected, they considered his departure to be a shameful abandonment of his duties as Kenju Master. Some even referred to him as a traitor. If not for Zhao's protection, along with the Council's respect for Quon's late father, the more vindictive Councilmembers would have moved to have Katharina deported.

Zhao was sad to see such petty reprisal among his colleagues. He had run his country much differently, with compassion and understanding for all of Koba's citizens, regardless of sex or ethnic background.

Unfortunately, the new administration was already starting to shift under Liu Qin. Councilmembers who had stifled their prejudices under Zhao Peng now felt comfortable exposing their inherent racism and xenophobia. Zhao remembered the old lord of House Protector with plenty of distaste, and it seemed that Liu Qin had inherited many of the same bigotries.

Zhao realized he needed to address some of these things with Katharina. But it would be a painful conversation. "I am sorry, my dear. I simply cannot take you to this particular event. Even if I could, I guarantee you would be quite uncomfortable with our politics on the inside."

Katharina tightened her lips, no doubt preparing her rebuttal. "Your Grace … with all due respect, I should decide for myself what I am comfortable seeing and hearing."

Zhao arched his brows, a subtle gesture, but one that caused Katharina to step back and appear to rethink her tactics.

Yet she persisted. "I am humbled by your generosity in welcoming me into your household, Lord Peng. I know how challenging it has been for you, and that I should be grateful and obedient. However, I must have a chance to hear Liu Qin's speech for myself. If you grant me this, I vow never to ask for another thing."

Zhao sighed once again. He knew that Katharina would not relent until she heard the whole truth. He had hoped to avoid it, but that was no longer possible.

"Would you please sit, my dear?" He gestured to a cushiony lounge at the side of the room between a pair of potted wide-leafed philodendrons. When seated, he told her all about the dirty underbelly of Koban politics, as well as all the reasons why the conference would be a hostile place for her.

Needless to say, the truth had its intended effect. The look of defiance chiseled into Katharina's face slowly crumbled as she learned that Koba's most powerful leaders despised her for no good reason. For a long time, she said nothing. Zhao almost worried if he might have come across too strongly.

"Do not take it to heart, my dear," he offered with uncharacteristic tenderness. He truly did feel sorry for her.

"How should I take it?" Her eyes were a mixture of fire and water.

The former emperor rubbed his own eyes, already feeling a deep ache within. "Listen to me, Katharina. The pain of injustice stings sharper than any wasp, but know this: They cannot harm you under my care. As long as you stay with me, I will always protect you."

Katharina's reaction was quite unexpected. She shook her head vigorously. "I do not care what they think of me. Their hate alone cannot pierce my flesh or cripple my bones. Yet their ignorance and inability to control Liu Qin might end up destroying us all! I am ready to face them regardless of what they think or say. My only question is, will you help me?"

Zhao stared at her, impressed by her strength and courage, but fearful of where it would lead. "As I said, it is not a good idea to accompany me tonight. Even so, I am no less committed to undermining the new emperor. All I ask is that you stay behind, so that I might attend with a clean conscience. Afterward, I will reveal everything to you, and we can discuss next steps."

This was the best that Zhao could offer, and he hoped she would be sensible enough to back down. Unfortunately, the stone cold look of determination solidified. She was not going to budge. "Answer me this, Milord. Are you shielding me from this conference for your sake, or for mine?"

Again, her words took Zhao by surprise—though he quickly composed himself. "I do this for your own good, my dear! I swore to your husband—who happens to be my good friend—that I would protect you."

Katharina rose from her seat and prostrated herself. "Then I relieve you of your obligations, Lord Zhao. I shall instead be your servant, no longer a ward to your protection."

The former emperor blinked a few times in disbelief. "I … do not understand."

Katharina faced him boldly. "I relinquish myself from your protection. I want to save this kingdom from Liu Qin's policies. If I become your servant, you will no longer have the responsibility of saving me from my own risks. So, please … allow me to work for you, so that I might face the Council, and you will have no reason to refuse me."

Zhao stood up and headed to the window to think. Katharina did not understand what she was asking. He stroked his beard, wondering if he could live with himself if anything happened to her. As long as she remained inside his household, she was at no risk. The Council had their prejudices, but they could not attack a non-target. Instead, if she spoke out or drew the wrong kind of attention—or, Gaia forbid, someone suspected her of actively opposing the new emperor—her very life would be in danger!

In the end, Katharina was not all that different from her husband. When it came to moral responsibility, she would not stay silent. Then again, the same would be true if he forbid her from the conference. No matter what he did, she would find a way to follow her heart. And at that point, it might as well be at his side, where he would at least have a chance of protecting her.

With his mind now set, he turned to face her. He kept on stroking his beard, a technique that made him appear more contemplative. It was effective when he needed to hide his emotions, such as the worry he felt for what he was about to say. Despite years of practice, he almost shook with trepidation.

"Very well, my dear. I shall see what I can do."

Katharina did a poor job of hiding her smile. A hint of cherry appeared on her cheeks, along with a set of dimples that revealed more than words ever could. She even tried to contain it with a nonchalant bow. "Thank you, my Lord."

"Go, now," he ordered, "and I will send the chamberlain to your room with instructions on dress code."

"Dress code?" she repeated.

Zhao nodded. "Oh, yes. We will do our best to help you blend in."

Katharina bowed once again before fleeing the room. When she was gone, Zhao let out a pent up breath. He still needed to figure out how to get her into the conference.

He returned to his place by the window, watching as dusk settled. He had a clear view of the eastern courtyard, where rows of miniature maples stood naked, baring little more than wiry branches. The sky was overcast, and a light rain fell upon a set of stone monuments. These were Zhao's ancestors, ancient lords of House Agriculture who looked toward the horizon with blind eyes. Perhaps the sculptor had intended to capture hope for the future. Zhao figured that he too could use a little faith.

Then it hit him. He did not need to go through any trouble to get Katharina into the conference. He had been stuck on how to finagle an invite despite his guest's notoriety, but all he truly needed to do was show up, unannounced, with her at his side. The ushers would not dare block his entrance, and if he did not introduce her, no one would recognize her. As for the consequences … sometimes it was better to seek forgiveness later, rather than ask for permission up front.

With that in mind, Zhao turned on his heel to find his chamberlain, a toothy grin spread across his face.

* * *

 _..._

* * *

Zhao's chamberlain picked out a green silken dress for Katharina with tan and white trim. It was the garb of a wealthy woman, not to mention the colors of House Agriculture. Anyone who did not know better would expect her to be a lord's wife, or more likely—because she accompanied a widower like Zhao Peng—a courtesan. These were not unheard of among Koban politicians, which made it a plausible cover. And besides, most Councilmembers were not as yet familiar with her face.

The conference was held in an auditorium within the imperial palace. The stage in front had a podium, where the new emperor would soon address his audience. Twenty-four seats ran along the sides, which were reserved for Councilmembers. Meanwhile, the center seats were dedicated to the lords of Koba's five royal houses as well as their retainers.

Besides Houses Agriculture and Protector, there was also House Industry, which focused on technological growth and innovation; House Patriot, which boosted morale during times of crisis; and House Merchant, which drove economic prosperity through trade and investment. Of course, House Protector belonged to Liu Qin, and its seats would remain empty for the duration of his rule.

Katharina sat next to Zhao, keeping her expression blank and unreadable. She noted many eyes transfixed upon her. No doubt rumors would abound in the coming days. But for now, Katharina's identity was still unknown.

A man entered the stage and requested that the audience take their seats. The din of voices quickly hushed as the gas lights in the room dimmed. Without trumpets or fanfare, the emperor of Koba approached the podium.

He began with a mundane series of announcements, such as recognizing the Council Foreman for putting together the event, announcing new appointments to his staff, and finally a few initiatives to generate revenues for the treasury—no doubt to keep his upcoming war well-funded. As he spoke, his eyes passed over Katharina and Zhao several times.

At last came the update on the negotiations from the southern continent, which involved seeking allies from the two largest nations in that region of the world. The first was Ek' Balam, a tropical country ruled by a king and queen. Their reputation was marked by their fierce military, but in the end they declined to get involved in Koba's war. It was clear from Liu Qin's tone that he was disappointed.

Even so, his tone brightened when he spoke about Malden, the country to the east. As he had noted days earlier, he and their leader, Khan Daria, had found some common ground. Malden was a mineral-rich nation with enough gold and diamonds from their mines to fund a mighty military. As it happened, the desert queen pledged earlier that morning to provide a brigade of centurions and a squadron of ships.

The plan was to deploy these forces to Angkor's southern port and disable their naval capabilities. Given their already weakened air force, Liu Qin believed both Koba and Kitezh could sustain a ground war with the remaining units.

Katharina tapped on Zhao's knee. When he gave her a sideways glance, she leaned close and whispered. "This is your chance. We can bring up the Ahrimen and warn the entire Council that their efforts are being misdirected!"

Katharina thought it was a timely idea, but Zhao hesitated. By now, Liu Qin had surely gone through the Oath of Ascension, which made him a Sunstone Protector, just like Zhao. He ought to have full knowledge about these demons and their powers.

Then again, she knew the Enchantment must also bound him to keep these secrets to himself. Zhao would look like a fool if he raised a topic that sounded outlandish to the others and Liu Qin failed to back him up. In fact, it seemed like an all-too-likely outcome.

Then again, the rest of the Council ought to know about the Sagittarius Stone. Its theft was common knowledge, and investigators had already concluded that a Gnostic Knight had done it, assumed to be one of Richard Cromwell's henchmen. That was it!

Katharina tapped Zhao again. "Tell them about Samuel Cortez, and how we should be talking about the true villains behind Angkor's attack. Then we can avoid this senseless war."

Katharina felt the window of opportunity was closing. She jabbed Zhao again, though perhaps a bit too hard, since he bolted to his feet.

It must have taken the auditorium by surprise. Liu Qin stopped his speech, and the audience stared. After a few moments of awkward silence, the new emperor addressed him with a smirk.

"Does the lord of House Agriculture wish to ask a question?"

Zhao bowed respectfully. "Yes, Your Grace."

Liu Qin spread out his hands with confidence. "Well then. Indulge us."

Zhao cleared his throat. He seemed caught off guard. "Forgive an old man's curiosity, but with Richard Cromwell now dead, is the threat of Angkor truly worth directing our military? We would only provoke them into defending the ruins of their capital, when instead we could follow up on the theft of our sunstone."

Liu Qin tilted his head to the side. "And how would we do that, Lord Peng?"

Zhao looked to his sides, where the Councilmembers stared at him, as if he were rudely interrupting their conference. But despite their hateful glares, he answered Liu Qin's question. "What of Samuel Cortez, the Gnostic Knight seen fleeing the temple with the Sagittarius Stone in hand? If we apprehended him, he would likely provide answers as to why Cromwell so aggressively pursued these artifacts. It would give us an inside view of Angkor's intentions, so that we might better judge whether war is necessary."

Liu Qin smiled politely. "I see the problem. You seem to be a bit behind on your intelligence reports, is that not correct, Lord Peng?"

Zhao frowned. Katharina remembered overhearing a conversation between Zhao and his chamberlain. Apparently, he had been denied intelligence briefings ever since Liu Qin took office. It was clear Liu Qin was mocking him. A few chuckles off to the side seemed to confirm her suspicion.

Liu Qin looked out to the Council. "Endear me, Councilmen, so that I might help Lord Peng to understand." His voice dripped with sarcasm and condescension. He then turned his attention back to Zhao.

"Cromwell's death has not made Angkor any less dangerous. Our reports confirm that one of his generals has risen to take his place—a man by the name of Phineas Blair. Apparently, he has already gathered enough wizards and war machines to make him a formidable opponent. Not to mention the airships and weapons that his men continue to unearth each day from the ruins of the capital. Our first priority must be to disable these forces before they are strong enough to mobilize. Anything else—including the workings of a single Gnostic Knight—is a distant second."

Murmurs broke out. Liu Qin had just managed to embarrass Zhao in front of the entire Council. Not only did the emperor suggest that Zhao was out of touch with the latest information, but also that he was prone to giving bad advice. It was a despicable move, but one that seemed to work.

The murmurs slowly descended into jeers as Zhao returned to his seat. It seemed clear that Liu Qin was intent on ruining his reputation, turning him into a laughing stock. But, why? Did he truly see Zhao as that much of a threat?

The former emperor said nothing. Anything else would have opened him up to even more ridicule. He made eye contact with Katharina, but she kept her vow of silence. Instead, she would make her own statement. Rising from her seat, she glared angrily at the snickering mob and stormed out of the room.

Stuck in a cloud of anger, she departed the palace without even thinking about her destination. She made it as far as the road back to House Agriculture before she heard the sound of an approaching coach.

It was Zhao's coach, and he opened the door to invite her inside. "It seems a bit chilly this evening, my dear, and you appear underdressed for the weather."

Katharina appreciated Zhao's attempt of chivalrous levity, but it was not enough to lift her mood. "I do not know why you let them disrespect you like that. You were once their emperor!"

Zhao took her by the hand and lifted her into the coach. When the driver took off, he addressed her with sincerity. "Katharina, listen to me. The men who jeered tonight did not suddenly change their opinion of me. They were just as unhappy with me then, but followed my agenda for political reasons."

"What are you saying?" she demanded. "That the Council was made of the same dissenters, even during your rule?"

Zhao nodded. "Of course! But back then, I had the power of being emperor, which made others fall in line, even if they disagreed with my policies. But now that I have been removed, they feel uninhibited to expose their true feelings."

Katharina shook her head. "It seems like all politicians are corrupt. Except you, I mean. How can people pretend to go along with something for years, disingenuously following orders while awaiting a change in leadership?"

Zhao chuckled. "Welcome to politics, my dear. Such is the nature of the beast. Fortunately for us, it works both ways."

Katharina leaned back. "What do you mean?"

Zhao cracked a smile. "Just as I had dissenters back then, so does Liu Qin now. I paid attention to those in the room before I left, and I believe we may find some support … if we look for it."

Katharina's mood brightened. "Is it enough to replace Liu Qin as emperor?"

Zhao sighed. "Probably not. It would take sixteen members of the Council to issue a vote, and at best we might find eight or nine who side with our viewpoint. But even then, they will not push hard if they are in the minority. At best, we might be able to slow funding for the war … or undermine decisions through procedural moves."

"But that is not enough," Katharina cried. "We can slow Liu Qin, but he is intent on war and will get his way eventually. We need to stop him for good!"

Zhao hung his head. "I am afraid that is impossible, my dear. The new emperor has enough power to make his dreams into reality. There is little more we can do without more support from the Council."

Katharina's lips tightened. It was time for something different. "I might have a few ideas."

Zhao perked up. "Please, go on."

"I want to speak with their wives."

Zhao looked confused. "Excuse me?"

"Their wives," Katharina repeated. "Based on what I understand of Koban traditions, I expect most Councilmen are married?"

Zhao scrunched his brows. "Yes … of course. But, what does that have to do with anything?"

Katharina grinned. It was clear that Zhao was not thinking like a woman. "I have observed that women tend to have small roles in Koban culture. However, there are certain universal aspects of marriage in which women will always have more control than men."

Zhao's eyes widened. "Are you suggesting that we manipulate the votes of some Councilmembers by creating alliances with their wives?"

Katharina gently scolded Zhao with a tap on his arm. "Do not use those words! I swear … only in Koba is a woman's advice called 'manipulation'."

Zhao's cheeks flushed. "Indeed. It seems even I am guilty of demonstrating our culture's downsides. Let me see what I can do about making some introductions. Do you have any other brilliant ideas?"

Katharina was flattered by the subtle compliment. "I do, indeed."

In fact, she had some old, potentially powerful connections within Kitezh that might help convince a few on the council. But she wanted to follow up with them before committing to anything. "Just give me a week to write some letters. I shall let you know as soon as I hear back."

Zhao's smile widened. "Well, then. There is certainly something to be said about a fresh perspective. I am impressed with your persistence and ingenuity. Let us hope it is enough."

With that, the coach finally arrived in front of House Agriculture. Zhao promised his support, while Katharina vowed to follow up with her ideas. She said a silent prayer to the Goddess that their work would yield fruit and Liu Qin would be stopped.


	23. Chapter 9, Part VII

**.**

* * *

 **Part VII**

 _Evening of Diapente, Third Day of Duskmoon_

* * *

Konrad's hands shook as he read through the handwritten pages. Within the words was a code that few people in the world could decipher. The only ones left included some relatives of the Brandt family and their most trusted benefactors. Konrad was such a person, and while he could not identify the hand who wrote the letter, he had no doubt the words had come from his true king.

The contents laid out a hard and painful journey. Everything from Józef's departure from Loulan and subsequent betrayal by Kitezhian sailors to the seizure of his ship and attempted ransom by waylaying pirates. He had barely escaped with his life but succeeded at leaving the pirate's ship behind. At that point, he drifted for days along the currents of the Glacial Ocean, exposed to freezing temperatures. Thankfully, a fishing boat off the northern coast of Vineta had found him and took him directly to the Nexus, where he was receiving treatment for severe frostbite.

The letter ended with a request for Konrad's help, and also a warning. Józef suspected that Heinz Unruh might be behind the original kidnapping, but he had no proof. All he had was knowledge from the clerics that Unruh had become Surrogate King. But he pieced together that only Unruh had the knowledge of his location and means to have sent the ship that picked him up. He urged Konrad to be careful.

Konrad crumpled the parchment in his fists. Rage and frustration boiled to the point where he wanted to unleash it all around him. He had failed at his most basic of duties. If he had not allowed Józef out of his protection, none of the other tragedies would have happened. And had he been in Rungholt during the Angkorian occupation, Unruh would have never risen to power. Worst of all, Konrad had pledged himself and was now a willing party to the same rotten administration … a servant to the man who had nearly succeeded in committing regicide!

He could no longer contain himself. His fist swept across his shelf of books, knocking his favorite old novels to the floor. His hand throbbed, and he sank to his knees, still clutching the parchment. If only Henrich Brandt were still alive ….

Kitezh's late king had been the closest thing he ever had to a father. That meant a lot, since Konrad's biological dad had fully disowned him. People used to wonder why Friedrich Rommel no longer spoke to his own son, or why he looked the other direction whenever Konrad passed him in the halls of the imperial palace. If asked, Konrad would explain that his father had high expectations—that he wished for his son to follow in his footsteps as a military leader—and he was disappointed when Konrad chose instead to follow an administrative path.

Of course, this was all a lie to help Konrad cover up his most embarrassing secret. The real reason why Kitezh's great military genius had disowned his son—the heir to his great legacy—was because Friedrich had discovered Konrad bedding with another man. The Kitezhian general was so thoroughly ashamed and disgusted that he instantly severed all familial ties.

It was a shock that would have driven Konrad homeless and penniless had it not been for a wealthy cousin with connections to the palace. At the time, Kitezh's economy was worsening, and the threat of conflict with Angkor had never been greater. In that environment, without any source of income, Konrad would not have survived. But, thankfully, his cousin helped him to secure a position inside the king's retinue—a job that, in effect, had saved his life.

As such, he worked hard and never took it for granted. Years later, his efforts paid off with a position inside the king's Ministry. And then, after years more of hard work, Konrad attained the coveted title of Primary Minister. His superior organizational skills and strategic genius helped him to outperform his peers and attain a position so difficult and stressful that multiple predecessors had resigned under the pressure. Unlike those others, Konrad thrived in difficult situations, employing patience and discipline to perform his multitude of tasks with ease.

Unfortunately, the job had its downsides. Greatest among them was the proximity to his father, who was still a powerful leader in Henrich Brandt's army. Friedrich spent much of his time in the imperial palace—right up until he died at Dobb's Plain. And whenever Konrad passed by him or made eye contact, such as across the room of one of Henrich's many military briefings, he would witness a gaze filled with scorn and disdain.

But that was not the worst part. After feeling his father's hatred, he would witness another transformation. Friedrich would act as if he did not recognize his son—almost as if Konrad were a complete stranger.

At least the hate-filled glares held some amount of emotion. From Konrad's point of view, hatred was just another form of love, in that it manifested whenever something threatened that which a person cared for the most. But indifference … that only meant that Friedrich would sooner wipe away a lifetime of memories than forgive his only living son.

And that hurt … deeply. Konrad felt small and alone, spurned by the man who had raised him. To have his only living parent reject him so thoroughly—and refuse to acknowledge his own existence—was something that cut deep into Konrad's heart.

Sadly, he found himself facing Friedrich's indifference more times than he could count. Each was a dagger through his heart. All he could do was attempt to ignore it and focus his mind elsewhere. For sure, he had other priorities and tasks he needed to accomplish … but it was never easy. He was alone with his secret, forced to endure and suffer without solace. And he wanted to keep it that way, lest others treat him with the same derision. He wanted his secret buried … buried so deep that no one would ever discover it.

But that would not last forever. Fate had deemed otherwise. Konrad remembered the day when everything had changed ….

 _It was at the end of one of King Brandt's briefings. Konrad felt a hand on his shoulder as he was about to leave the room. He had once again lost his ability to think after facing one of his father's angry glares. So he hardly paid attention until the hand on his shoulder forcibly held him back. He spun around to find the arm attached to his king._

 _"Your Majesty!" He bowed his head contritely. "Forgive me for being elsewhere. What do you need?"_

 _Henrich looked to the left and right as various Ministers filed out of the room. "I want to speak with you, Konrad. In private."_

 _Henrich's Primary Minister bowed even deeper and waited for the remainder of the room to clear. "My Liege, I have not done anything to displease you, have I? If I have—"_

 _"Konrad, please." Henrich was a tall and portly man, with a voice so deep that it easily overpowered his subordinates. "Your work here has always been impeccable, and you have not displeased me. My desire is to speak with you about your father."_

 _Konrad's blood turned to ice. Here he stood, in front of a man who demanded truth and obedience, now choosing a subject that would very well force his Primary Minister into a very difficult position. Konrad would do anything to avoid exposing his secret, but he could not lie to his king if Henrich asked him directly. The conundrum left frozen shards in his veins that paralyzed his entire body._

 _"Konrad, you are shaking," the king observed._

 _The Primary Minister applied all his willpower to thaw his muscles. "Forgive me, but I am not comfortable with this line of discussion."_

 _"Clearly." Henrich stood tall … at least a foot taller than Konrad, which created a towering stature commanding of awe and respect. "But I am your king. Which means I decide what business of yours may remain private. Besides … I have begun to notice it affecting your work."_

 _Konrad felt lightheaded. It was because he had stopped breathing. How long had it been? He took a deep breath and tried to steady himself. "I understand, Your Majesty. I swear it will never happen again!"_

 _"Not good enough," his king insisted, with volume now ten or twenty decibels higher. "I want to know why the presence of your father causes you to stiffen like a scarecrow. I have observed it numerous times, so I cannot let this slide."_

 _The pressure was too much. The shame of Konrad's past was about to collide with his present—and all that he had built, all his dreams and aspirations—were ready to be smashed to bits. "I … I cannot. Please do not ask this of me."_

 _Henrich practically towered over him, his face clearly displeased. "I have already spoken with your father, Konrad. At least he was strong enough to answer me truthfully. I had hoped that you would have been more forthcoming, too."_

 _It felt like a sucker punch. All the air escaped Konrad's lungs as he realized his worst fears had come to life. He had not uttered a thing, yet Henrich already knew! Konrad felt a loss of control over his body, like the bones had been ripped out and his flesh had nothing else to hold it in place. His knees wobbled like a mold of gelatin, and he sank to the floor._

 _Words he had never meant to say came pouring out. "I … I will resign immediately. Just spare me the punishment … please …."_

 _A steady hand lifted Konrad to his feet. "Unacceptable. I cannot afford to lose you. We are at war, and your service to me and your country is too damned important!"_

 _Konrad gawked at the man standing before him—a man far stronger and surer than Konrad would ever be—and yet the words from his king's mouth spoke of praise rather than ridicule. Did Konrad mishear? Was he now on the cusp of losing his sanity?_

 _"But—but … if you spoke with my father … then surely—"_

 _Henrich lowered his brows. "Yes, I know all about your love affairs. But those are irrelevant to me. Our nation's security is of far greater importance than the man or woman you choose to lay beside!"_

 _Henrich's tone was firm and definitive. "And if you have any doubts, then I command you to put them aside. Your job is not at risk, and no one needs to know what we have discussed. The only thing I need is a competent Primary Minister. Could you be that for me, Konrad?"_

 _Konrad wiped away the wetness around his eyes. He felt fifty stones lighter and relieved beyond measure. Even so, his mind was restless with questions. "Yes, of course! But … what about my father? Did he say anything else?"_

 _Henrich let out a deep breath, and sympathy crept upon his face. "No. I am sorry, Konrad. He and I disagree when it comes to what it means to be a father. But I can tell you this: He has no more desire to leak your … proclivities … to the public than you do. So you should not fear any threats to your privacy. Of course, you should neither expect your father's feelings toward you to change."_

 _Konrad's shoulders sagged, but not because Henrich's words had made him feel any worse. In fact, he was finally ready to let go. He had waited a long time to find out if his father would ever be capable of loving him again. Friedrich's silence had always left room for hope that amends were still possible. And Konrad held on to that hope, even though it caused him so much heartbreak. But after hearing the truth from his king, he finally felt the closure he needed._

 _A hand reached for his shoulder, and he heard his king's reassuring voice. "I want you to understand something, Konrad. It should have been your father saying this, but though he makes an excellent military strategist, he apparently lacks common decency or compassion. Nevertheless, I can attest that you are a man who has not just served this country with the utmost loyalty, but one who also has a kind and noble heart. I trust you, Konrad—more than any other Ministry member. If I were your father, I would feel nothing but pride!"_

 _"Your Majesty, please …." The praise was too much. Konrad begged to shy away from his king's high pedestal. Sure, he appreciated the kind words, but he wanted genuine feedback, not platitudes. Besides, only moments ago he had tried to cover up his embarrassing secret. Surely the King of Kitezh had more trustworthy advisors. "I do not deserve—"_

 _"Nonsense!"_

 _Once again, the one with the baritone voice took the lead. If King Brandt insisted on cheering him up with inflated praise, Konrad had no problem accepting it._

 _Henrich crossed his arms. "I see you are not used to people speaking well of you."_

 _Konrad stiffened. "My Lord, I only meant to suggest—"_

 _Henrich held up his right hand. For some reason, it had the same effect as his mighty voice. "I do not blame you for being skeptical of your own gifts, especially since your own father has mistreated you for so long. But I feel it necessary to convince you. Take my boy, for instance …."_

 _Konrad thought about Prince Józef, the rambunctious youth who always sent Henrich's caretakers into a tizzy._

 _"He respects you, you know."_

 _"What? Seriously?" Konrad was incredulous, so the words spilled out without thinking. Henrich's son was notorious for disrespecting his wardens, and he hardly treated Konrad any differently._

 _"You mean to say you have not noticed?" Henrich challenged. "Think back to the times I have asked you to look after him."_

 _"Ye—yes, of course! How could I forget? I did my best, but …."_

 _Konrad could not finish, but he hardly needed to. The king's belly jiggled as he laughed. "Yes, I know. He is a handful, is he not?"_

 _The king was understating it, and Konrad was hesitant to join in the joke. Henrich frequently turned to his Ministry to babysit, a task well-known for limiting otherwise promising careers. Konrad had been asked several times, too, and he rarely felt in control when Prince Brandt was around. The boy was too good at knowing his wardens' limits, which he then proceeded to exploit. He tested his caretakers incessantly with varying levels of disobedience. Just watching him for a few hours was a stressful and undesirable chore._

 _Henrich cleared his throat. "Really, I do not mean to make light of it. My boy has problems with authority, and I have been quite stern with him over the years. But I suppose my warnings have had little effect. After all, I have been absent for most of his upbringing."_

 _The king started to sound a bit choked-up, drawing out Konrad's sympathy. He did not imagine it was easy for a good king to also be a good father. But he knew from his own childhood that Friedrich had maintained discipline by employing a healthy dose of punishment. Konrad still remembered the beatings he would receive whenever he had disobeyed his father's orders. No doubt Henrich went easier on his own son, which might have explained his wilder tendencies._

 _Even so, Konrad would never want to harm another child like he himself had been harmed. When it came to watching over the prince, he tried to be aware of how he would want to be treated. It took patience, but he approached the boy's disobedience with understanding. He knew that he would not get anywhere with threats—and indeed, other caretakers who took that approach learned very quickly about Józef's vengeful side. Anyone who dared to go tit-for-tat eventually found themselves unexpectedly reassigned from the king's cabinet._

 _Henrich took a deep breath and went on. "Józef means well … I am just not around for him as much as I should be."_

 _Discomforted by his king's admission, Konrad felt compelled to interject. "Your Majesty, you need not blame yourself."_

 _"That is not why I bring this up." Henrich was quick to answer. Konrad clammed shut, giving his liege plenty of space to proceed uninterrupted._

 _After a few moments, the giant man continued. "My point is I have watched the two of you together, and I take note of how well you interact. You do far better than any of the others."_

 _Konrad took a step back. "Sire?" He suspected that it was probably true, but Henrich's earlier claim was that the prince respected him, which Konrad still doubted._

 _Henrich cleared his throat. "He goes easy on you, you know. The rest of my staff have distanced themselves, and I do not blame them. But you have never hesitated. Ask a man whom he trusts—and if he does not point to the one who treats his children with the utmost respect, he has neither sense nor judgment. You asked me how I could praise you for your character? Look no further than the patience and kindness you employ to my son. I think you and he share some things in common: two creative and introverted individuals, and, I think if he applied himself, equal in intellect."_

 _Konrad absorbed his king's description. Perhaps there was some truth in it. Konrad often felt he could relate to Józef. For example, there was a time when he stumbled upon the prince playing a lute while staring out his bedroom window. Józef's attention had been captured by a group of young boys playing in the courtyard. The prince watched as if longing to join them. They were practically within reach, but the prince never left his seat._

 _Konrad felt bad for the boy. He remembered how awkward he had felt when he was a youth in social situations. Part of his problem was a fear of being attracted to the other boys, which was why he avoided them whenever possible. Sometimes, his father forced him to play with other boys, but they never actually liked him. They only tolerated his presence because of his father's reputation. Konrad figured that, perhaps, Józef was similar. The prince clearly wanted to interact with others, but perhaps he hesitated because of his father's position. Whatever the reasons, Józef was isolated from other boys his age, and Konrad knew what that pain felt like._

 _Konrad escaped from his reverie to notice that Henrich looked lost in thought. Perhaps he, too, had experienced a melancholy memory. He faced Konrad with hope in his eyes. "Now do you understand, Konrad? For whatever reason, my son senses a man that he can respect—a man whom he trusts. And that means something to me."_

 _Konrad nodded, but he was still confused. Only moments ago, it felt like his life was at an end—that some poor judgment from his past had caught up to him. And for a split second, he believed that all he had worked so hard to achieve was about to be destroyed. And yet, his own king—who now knew his darkest and most embarrassing secret—seemed intent on offering him praise. And he justified it by using his son as an example. Konrad wondered where it was all leading._

 _"Do you understand, Konrad?"_

 _The Primary Minister was utterly lost. "I accept your praises, Sire, as do I accept that the prince treats me better than his other guardians. However, I am still perplexed with what it has to do with my father or the conflict between us."_

 _Henrich sighed. If anything, he looked a bit distraught. "Listen to me, Konrad. There is more. I know it goes beyond your role, but I must demand more from you."_

 _Henrich's face looked bleak, and Konrad feared what kind of demand it might be. He tried to respond with confidence. No matter what burden his king had in store, it was his duty to accept it._

 _"Anything, My Lord!"_

 _The room became eerily quiet. All he could hear was the clank of Henrich's boots as he paced from side to side along the white marble floors. His footsteps echoed throughout the chamber like the ticking of a great clock._

 _"We read the same intelligence reports, you and I. So you must already know that Angkor has begun mobilizing their forces in the Saladina Desert. They encroach daily, and though I have sent several squadrons to defend our border, I am worried that it is only a matter of time before they confront us in battle. Their forces outnumber ours by two to one, and many fear a bloodbath."_

 _Indeed, Konrad had read the same reports, but he knew of other factors. "Your Majesty, do not forget that they march through scorching sands. Men who endure those conditions are not fit for immediate battle. Yet I feel certain our neighbors to the East are close to agreeing to our alliance. The negotiations proceed quickly. We will have their support before war breaks."_

 _Henrich nodded. "I appreciate your optimism, Konrad. But, I am not as hopeful." He took a deep breath. "That is why I find it prudent to plan ahead. If war should reach our doorstop, we must have contingencies. If our country is to survive, we must plan what to do if something were to happen to me."_

 _Konrad felt his chest constrict. This was a conversation reserved only for Henrich's most trusted allies. No wonder he wanted his Primary Minister thinking clearly. "I will support you in any way I can, My Lord."_

 _Henrich took another deep breath. "I know you will, Konrad. Which is why … I want to name you Józef's surrogate. In case anything should happen to me, I want you to lead the country until he comes of age."_

 _Konrad's heart stopped. He never expected those words. He thought Henrich would invite him into his inner circle—help him to plan contingencies and give advice—but instead he went beyond anything Konrad had ever thought possible. His king wanted to give him the responsibility of defending the entire country, while also raising his son as king. It was just too much! If Henrich had difficulty with both roles, what hope did Konrad have? The Primary Minister felt himself shaking._

 _"Do not falter on me now!" Henrich's commanding voice was back, and it sent shockwaves through Konrad's body. "It is common sense to explore options. If I were to perish at the hands of my enemy, I will need to have groomed a replacement. Many in this country know how to fight a war, but you are the only man I trust to defend my heir."_

 _Konrad squeezed out a response through his larynx. "But … but why me, of all people? I have done no more than look after your son a handful of times. And yet you think I can secure the future of the entire kingdom?"_

 _Henrich stood tall with the stature of a grizzly bear. "Yes, you fool. But I would not so easily give the keys of my kingdom to a man who has been broken by his wretched and closed-minded father. I want you to forget the doubts he has sown inside your mind and show me your strength! Prove to me that you deserve this responsibility. Show me that you are not the fop your father takes you for!"_

 _Konrad gritted his teeth. He had spent his entire adult life proving his father wrong, and the results spoke for themselves! He puffed out his chest and stood tall. "I have nothing to prove. I am the Primary Minister of Kitezh, and I worked my way to this position from nothing."_

 _"What else?"_

 _"I competed with peers who had every advantage: wealth, connections, and powerful family members—yet I outwitted every one of them! I know my enemies, and I have what it takes to navigate politics."_

 _"More, Mister Rommel."_

 _Konrad was on a roll. "I see now why you brought up your son. He has a good heart, much like his father. Others see a misbehaved brat, but I have never treated him like one. I have always respected him, which is why he grants me respect in return. That is how a good man raises a child, and also how a good king leads his country!"_

 _Henrich nodded decisively. "Yes. To all of it. But I believe you have one more important asset, Konrad. One that no other candidate shares."_

 _Konrad paused, trying hard to think of what he had left out._

 _Henrich helped him. "It is your humility. When I presented you with the most ambitious and powerful position in this kingdom, you felt the weight of its responsibility. Too many others I know are opportunists, who would sooner take the crown for themselves and throw the entire Brandt family to the wolves. Never lose sight of that."_

 _Konrad understood all too well. Henrich's fiercest enemies were also those he outwardly called friends._

 _The grizzly bear rested on its haunches, bending down slightly to meet Konrad's clear eyes. "You must understand this, because after today, I will expect far more from you."_

 _Konrad stood a bit straighter to equalize the difference in height. "I will, My Lord."_

 _Henrich raised his hand. "I know you are eager to say yes, but let me say it plainly, so there is no confusion: I came to you today to put an end to your angst with your father. I need your undivided attention on the war and on keeping my boy safe. I know it must be difficult to process all at once, but I trust that you are capable. Take whatever time you need in private to fully absorb your new duties, but be prepared to step up if anything ever happens to me."_

 _Konrad's lips tightened before speaking. "I will, My Lord."_

 _He now found it easier to get into the right frame of mind. He had finally internalized his king's praises, and it felt natural to say yes. Henrich seemed to think so, too._

 _"Good," he concluded. "I will make sure the legal paperwork is in the family vault. As you know, the combination resides only inside the family, and I will ensure my son knows how to open it."_

 _"Let us hope it never comes to that," Konrad added. "But if it does, you can count on me, Sire_."

Years passed after Konrad was given his assignment, and for a long time, war never made its way to Rungholt's gates. After the Battle of Dobb's Plain, the bloodiest on record, Richard Cromwell presented a set of surrender terms to Koba and Kitezh. Both country's forces had been devastated, and their leaders felt compelled to accept. It led to a crippled economy and an oppressive neighbor, but at least Henrich Brandt kept his reign … and his life.

Konrad's outward job shifted from war strategist to economic advisor. It was always hard work, but peacetime gave Henrich and his son more time to bond—and of course the king insisted that his chosen surrogate come along for various outings. Konrad cherished the days when Henrich took him on long trips across the countryside, treating him like a second son. Days at the lake, game hunting in the marshlands, and camping at the winter lodge … all were the happiest times of Konrad's life.

He had also formed a friendship with Józef along the way. Being caretaker was no less stressful, but at least the prince knew how to make things fun. Even when Józef grew older and started fleeing the country on his own adventures, he always seemed to travel slowly enough for his warden to catch up. Those manhunts were stressful for Konrad, but Józef would often perform and play his instruments on the return trips, which in a way made it all worth it.

Konrad was finally settling into his role, feeling like he could coast all the way to retirement. It felt like his worst fears were behind him, when cruel fate finally intervened. One day … out of the blue … the skies opened up and rained fire.

Angkor had returned after years of peace to bomb the capital city. Nobody saw it coming. Henrich had been in his study reading some routine documents when a column of stone fell and crushed him. His death was an injustice to the world—a good man who loved his people and deserved the utmost respect for his tenure.

Fortunately, Józef had survived, and for that Konrad was grateful. But the palace was in ruins, and Angkorian soldiers roamed the city. Konrad never had a chance to enter the family vaults, nor did he find Henrich's will. His singular focus was on protecting the heir and getting Józef as far away from Rungholt as possible.

It was serendipity when he first ran into the Gnostic Knight-turned-traitor. Bram Morrison's entry into the city was a mystery. He was full of secrets and willing to use them against King Richard. Konrad did not trust the man, but he was desperate. He hoped the old saying was true—that his enemy's enemy was his friend. And since Bram was willing to guide Józef all the way to Koba, it freed Konrad to shoulder the task of reclaiming his city from Angkorian forces.

His plan's only flaw was in underestimating Heinz Unruh. The former Minister of Security had always been ambitious, and Konrad had suspected for a long time that he had his eyes on the job of Primary Minister. But he never expected Unruh to stage a coup, and he never thought his old colleague would use the Angkorian crisis to cheat his way to the top.

Unfortunately, by the time Konrad had arrived back in Rungholt, he was too late to stop it. Géorg's sandskipper glided to Rungholt's front gates just as Unruh's forces were sweeping up the ashes of battle. The newly named Surrogate King gave Konrad an immediate choice to swear fealty, or else be subject to banishment, imprisonment, or worse!

Konrad's only solace was that Unruh had not yet breached the family vaults. The newly crowned king knew about the monies that Henrich had stashed there—and no doubt wanted them to strengthen his military forces—but he had no way of knowing about the most important treasure.

Henrich's will was a powerful document. Not even Unruh's recent popularity would protect him if Konrad showed it to the Ministry. Once presented, it would allow Konrad to claim the crown for himself, at which point he could return Prince Brandt as rightful ruler. But without the legal document, the Ministry was free to interpret Henrich's wishes as they saw fit, and they had already chosen Unruh as their leader. As long as Józef remained away from the city, Unruh was the _de facto_ king.

Konrad believed in only one thing: He had to right his old wrongs, and the only way to do that was to bring Józef back to Rungholt before Unruh cleared a path to the vaults. They were still trapped under massive amounts of rubble created in the wake of the Angkorian raid. But once unearthed, Unruh would be able to force his way inside.

Of course, he needed to clear a few more legal hurdles. The first was that the vaults would remain closed as long as Józef was alive with access to the combination. The only way Unruh could override this order was if the heir was legally declared dead, or somehow deemed unfit to rule by the Ministry. And at that point, Unruh could enter the vault and destroy Henrich's written authority before anyone had a chance to challenge him. At that point, Unruh's kingship would be permanent.

Indeed, it explained why Unruh had gone through the trouble of kidnapping Józef in the first place. Unruh knew that Kitezh's heir was a threat to his own power, and that made the usurper king extremely dangerous. Konrad needed to reach Józef and get him to a safe haven before Unruh hired an assassin to finish the job.

Fearing that the contents of the prince's letter might escape into the public space, Konrad burned the pages in the flame of his desk candle. He was afraid, but he knew what he needed to do next. Henrich Brandt had believed in him when his own father wished for his non-existence. Konrad owed it to his late monarch to follow through to the end.

With that in mind, he hastily packed a change of clothes and grabbed some gold coins from his hidden cache. Just as he was about to rush out the door, he found the archway blocked by the new Minister of Security. Géorg Töller forced his way inside and closed the door behind him.

Konrad was startled and tensed every muscle. Yet he told himself there was nothing to fear. Géorg was his friend. Or was he? He remembered their spat from the other day. Géorg had been drinking that night, but his words still suggested a strong preference for Unruh's policies. Konrad wanted to believe that friendship was stronger than politics, but now he was not so sure. He decided to keep the details of his voyage to himself.

"What do you want?" he demanded. "Why barge in like this?"

Géorg leaned against the door, effectively blocking Konrad's escape. "Going somewhere?" His body language set off all kinds of alarms.

The question, too, sounded like a setup, which put Konrad on the defensive. "Yes. As a matter of fact, I am. And I do not need your permission. So step aside."

Géorg closed the distance and forced Konrad to take a few steps back. Given his larger stature, Géorg had an easy time pushing his friend around. "Stop playing games, Konrad. I know where you are going, and I came to talk you out of it. The prince is not worth betraying your country."

Konrad gasped. He knew …. "What are you talking about?"

The new security minister came prepared with an answer. "I know two things, Konrad. First, a telegram arrived today from Kish, and you intercepted it. Second, Prince Brandt was sighted there by some of our operatives. I came to tell you that if you choose to go after him … well, I can only impress upon you the severity of that mistake!"

Konrad scoffed, ready to stand his ground. "What is that? Some kind of threat?"

Géorg took a step back. "No, of course not. Who do you think I am? I thought we were friends."

Konrad's muscles relaxed a bit, causing him to emit a sigh in the process. "I thought we were more than that. We shared a bed together, lest you forget."

Géorg turned to the side, and his lips trembled. "You do not plan to go public with that, do you?"

Konrad huffed. The glaze of fear over Géorg's eyes was all too familiar. "I have no desire to expose either of us, but our time together does mean something to me. And it makes me wonder what has gotten into you. Ever since you returned from Angkor … it is like you are a different person."

Konrad reached out to touch Géorg's arm, but the Security Minister took the hand and set it aside. "I just want to help you see things clearly."

Konrad withdrew his hand, hurt that Géorg had treated it so callously. With nowhere else to put it, he clutched it close to his chest. "I have more clarity in my decisions than you know. You do not know Unruh like I do—"

"Forget about him for a moment. I want you to think about your future … as well as the well-being of Kitezh's citizens. This country needs you, just as it needs a stable government. You have been instrumental to our recovery, and I do not want to lose you now. Especially after all we have worked so hard to rebuild."

Konrad hung his head. Géorg did not understand, and he wondered how much he could risk saying about it. "Géorg … I have a duty—"

"Yes, you do. To King Unruh. But if you bring Prince Brandt back to Rungholt, all it will do is cause chaos. More than half the city supports the new king. The last thing we need is a set of legal battles distracting us from defending our country!"

Konrad was frustrated but also saddened by the ineffective communication. "You do not understand. Unruh is a usurper."

Géorg threw up his hands. "That again? What makes you think Prince Józef even wants the throne? Right now, he is safe in Vineta, probably having the time of his life. Why not leave him there and let us finish our war? Surely you agree that this would be safer for Kitezh's citizens. It would be foolish to think otherwise!"

Konrad frowned. Clearly, Géorg still believed that Unruh's maturity and military expertise made Kitezh safer. It was true that military strategists needed to be ruthless and calculating, and also true that the country needed its military now more than ever. However, it was not true that having Unruh as king actually made the country any safer.

Unruh was impulsive and myopic. He was more likely get the country into trouble than be cool-headed or take advice from his closest advisors. Good leaders deliberated with multiple experts, but Unruh often acted unilaterally and depended on his Ministry to cover up his mistakes. Géorg did not understand these things, and unfortunately he was too entrenched in his ideology to comprehend Konrad's explanation.

But there was one thing that Konrad could tell him. "Do you even know how King Brandt ended up in Kish?"

Based on Géorg's blank expression, Konrad figured it made sense to explain it. "It was because his servants were murdered by the same Kitezhian sailors who picked him up in Koba. He only ended up in Kish after escaping his kidnappers—and on the way there almost died from exposure to the elements. But, thankfully, he is recovering at the local hospital."

Géorg folded his arms. "Konrad—"

Konrad cut him off. He was not going to let Géorg redirect the conversation before he made his point. "Before you chastise me for leaving, know that I have a duty to help the prince when he is in need. And for Gaia's sake, open your eyes to Unruh's lies. Only a few people knew to send a ship after the heir when he was in Koba. Unruh maintains his power as long as Prince Brandt is gone. He has plenty of motive to see him dead."

Géorg's lips tightened. "How do you know all this? Is that what the letter told you?"

Konrad balled his fists. "You would doubt my king's accounts?"

Géorg rolled his eyes. "Will you stop calling him that? Józef does not wear the crown, and I have no reason to trust a set of unsubstantiated conspiracy theories. For all I know, the boy made it all up because he is desperate for attention. There is no evidence backing up his story, and certainly nothing linking our king to any crime!"

Konrad snarled. "If any evidence exists, I will find it!"

Géorg bared his teeth. "To your own detriment, as well as the country's. If you bring the boy here and make wild accusations, then all the progress we have made … all the initiatives and preparation … it will all be gone! Who would benefit from that?"

"Justice!"

Géorg brought both hands to his head. "You are a fool. A damned stubborn fool! No one profits from the chaos but our enemies, and no justice reigns if our nation is in ruins because we were unprepared!"

Konrad clenched his teeth so hard his jaw ached. "If Unruh was indeed behind Prince Brandt's disappearance, then he is guilty of attempted regicide. No matter what you think of his performance or expertise, you cannot keep a man in power who is also responsible for such a crime."

Géorg's eyes were slits, but he maintained his gaze, as well as his posturing. "There is no crime. You will find no evidence, because our king is guilty of nothing except wanting to protect us. He is a patriot!"

Behind Konrad's anger was a deep and penetrating sadness. He felt something for Géorg, but he had failed to reach him with the truth. Now it was time to say goodbye.

"You keep telling yourself that. But I am leaving!"

He tried pushing past Géorg, but the two-armed man grabbed his hand and squeezed. The vice-grip almost brought Konrad to his knees. "Stop! You are hurting me!"

Géorg let go, looking stupefied by his own strength. He stared at his hand as if it were a viper. While distracted, Konrad grabbed his bag of belongings and raced out of the room. He never looked back.


	24. Chapter 9, Part VIII

**.**

* * *

 **Part VIII**

 _Morning of Terminus, Fourth Day of Duskmoon_

* * *

Bram closed his eyes as he glided his hand across the smooth wooden surface of his desk. He was in his cabin aboard the _Heron_ , and along that old oak tabletop, his hand knew every knot and divot. He had spent countless hours toiling away there over mission plans and strategies, but at that moment, the memories of his past hit him like a bucket of cold water.

Only five weeks earlier, he had been a Gnostic Knight on his way to another routine conquest. He had felt almost giddy as he stared out the window, smelling the salty sea breeze while watching the last rays of sunlight glint off the delicate ocean waves.

But his role in the Knighthood had been a farce. He had never once questioned his loyalty, nor did he ever stop to think about the impact of his orders. Even on that fateful evening, when he argued his mission objectives with Virgil, his only motivation had been his own pride. He had worried that a certain chancellor was asserting too much authority, so he vowed to put a stop to it. And yet, the morally abject principles of his mission went completely unnoticed.

It was not until he witnessed the senseless slaughter of the Minoan priests—innocent men and women who had seemingly lost their lives without reason. And at that moment, everything changed. He might have never realized the full extent of their courage that day, but he understood now why they had sacrificed their lives to protect their sunstone. Thinking of his role on that mission put his guts in a knot.

He had done so much harm, either by his own hand or through omission. But, at least now things were different. He knew to look inside for answers, and he would never again give up his conscience for a corrupt king. He had a long way yet to travel on the road to righteousness before feeling comfortable inside his silver Grigori armor, but at least now he was committed.

Of course, this time, when he gazed outside the window behind his desk, the beautiful sunset was replaced by a swirling mass of dark menacing clouds. Sheets of rain bombarded the glass, sending hollow clinks throughout the chamber. A gentle rolling thunder reminded him that the core of the storm was quickly approaching.

The scene was almost fitting. He was about to embark on a mission that was no longer backed by the might of the Angkorian army. This time, Bram and his fledgling allies were alone in their effort to confront a nearly insurmountable foe. But, at least the Knight followed his heart and not the baseless orders of a greedy and immoral king. He was doing the right thing, both for the world … and for the woman he loved.

Dear Rosa … the deadline had finally arrived. He would soon face two nemeses—a brother who had always despised him and a man who had once called him friend. Bram still did not know when or where Kane would meet him, but he had decided to set his course to the Angkorian border, near the original meeting place. He hoped that Kane would expect the same.

Of course, his old homeland was still a dangerous place. He had no desire to wait in the open and invite a skirmish with hostile aircrafts. In order to avoid being seen, he hovered above the clouds, where a raging tempest was passing overhead. The cover gave him time to plan his strategy. Even so, it was difficult to think through all the implications. The impeding confrontation grated on his nerves, and he was almost startled when a knock struck the door.

"Come," he announced out of habit.

Matthias strode inside and closed the door behind him. He was soaked, likely because he had come from above deck.

"Is everything still alright up there?" Bram asked while reaching for a towel on a nearby rack.

Matthias took the cloth and wiped his face and beard. "The storm's ferocious, but I've ionized the hull to protect us from lightning. Not worth the effort to shield us from the rain, though. I have to stay strong … just in case."

Bram nodded. "Of course. I still believe we're in the right spot. Kane never provided coordinates, so we must assume that he intends to meet here."

The gray wizard did not argue, a position that gladdened the Knight. It seemed that Matthias was putting forth more effort to keep things amicable—a welcome change from the once-cranky sage.

Bram remembered something that had been weighing on his mind. "Oh, before I forget: how's Cedric?"

"Quite well," the wizard responded. "Isaac did a bang up job mending the wounds. I examined Cedric's abdomen and noted only minor scarring. He's resting for now, of course. Quon is watching over him."

Bram was relieved. "That's good. Do you know how long it'll take before he's fully recovered?"

Matthias let out a gasp of air. It almost sounded like a scoff, amended at the last moment to be less harsh. "I recommend giving him a few weeks."

Bram's eyes widened. " _Weeks?_ "

Matthias cleared his throat. "Yeah, I know that leaves us with one less ally in the field, but to be frank, I think we're better off letting Cedric retire from hand-to-hand combat. His injuries were horrific—and he's lucky to be alive! But, if things progress well, he'll be back on his feet in a day or two."

Bram let his shoulders sag. He was certainly grateful that his friend was still alive, but he had hoped to have another able body for the struggles ahead. He wondered what chances his remaining three-person team would have going up against Samuel or Virgil.

"Ahem …" the wizard cleared his throat again, now looking like he was done with small talk. "It's time we talked about what we're getting into here. After what Madeline revealed, it feels like we're about to charge into something we don't understand. I don't suppose you've developed a plan for what to do once Mister Harding arrives and expects you to hand over the sunstone?"

Once again, Bram appreciated the wizard's new tact. His tone was softer spoken, almost thoughtful. Unfortunately, the Knight had not yet formulated anything that resembled a solid plan. There were just too many unknowns.

As a Gnostic, he had always been accustomed to developing his own mission tactics, and it often made him uncomfortable relying on others to do the same. But this time, he needed help, and Matthias stood there ready to offer some. It was the right time for Bram to let down his guard and discuss things collaboratively. After all, the wizard had already proven himself to be quite capable at offering sound advice.

"Yeah, let's chat." Bram grabbed a nearby chair and offered it to the old man.

Matthias pulled it a half-span closer and sat. It was time to lay some groundwork. "I hope you don't expect a straight-forward transaction. I doubt that Mister Harding will simply hand over Miss Reynolds or allow us to take the fake Capricorn Stone back to your brother's base. It won't be that easy."

Bram agreed. "I was thinking the same thing before you arrived. Samuel is trained as a Gnostic. That means Rosa is only valuable as a hostage. He'll do whatever it takes to avoid giving up his leverage. And once he has what he wants ... he'll consider her a liability."

Bram had to stop. He was already getting choked up thinking about what Samuel might do to reduce such a liability.

Meanwhile, the old wizard stroked his beard. "If that's true, then how do you expect things to go down with Mister Harding? Will he simply demand the Capricorn Stone without collateral? Surely he wouldn't think to bully us empty-handed."

Bram paused. Matthias was asking the right question, but more was needed before gaming it out. "Let's start with reviewing what we know. Take the Capricorn Stone, for instance: Madeline claims that it's a fake, created by Virgil Garvey thirty years ago when he was an apprentice under Maurice Vance. And yet, Samuel used us to retrieve it. That suggests he must believe it's the real thing."

Matthias held up his forefinger. "Back up even further. Before we recovered the fake sunstone from Garda, King Arcesilaus had stolen it from the clerics. I think he was the first one sent by your brother."

"Right," Bram agreed. "Arcesilaus was possessed by Libicocco because of the Gemini Stone, but he couldn't have gotten it unless Samuel gave it up willingly. My brother must have expected the Ahriman to corrupt the king and return with the sunstone. However, Libicocco turned on my brother, instead. I think it happened when Libicocco realized that Lord Zagan was no longer in the sunstone. Once Samuel lost contact with his primary contact, he turned to us."

"Precisely! But …" Matthias waved his index finger forebodingly. "How could Samuel not have known about the Capricorn Stone? Especially given how closely he's been working with Virgil? The only explanation is that Virgil must have kept it from him intentionally!"

Bram gulped a lungful of air. Things were becoming complicated. "True … we had always assumed that Virgil and Samuel were equal partners—or at least willing to look past their differences to work as a team. But now, Virgil seems to have the upper hand. He's betrayed my brother. But why …?"

Matthias pressed his lips together tightly as he noodled. "Perhaps due to infighting? You think Samuel might have done something to incur Virgil's wrath?"

Bram shook his head. "No … it's more than that. Virgil was the one that stole the original Capricorn Stone and replaced it with a fake. He must therefore still have the original in his possession. Think about that … almost thirty years, and all this time exposed to the Ahriman. What if …."

Matthias' jaw hung open. "You don't think he's being influenced by Lord Zagan, do you?"

Bram leaned forward, feeling a critical piece of the puzzle slide into place. "No, worse. What if … what if Virgil lost the battle with the Ahriman a long time ago? We know based on our encounter with Libicocco that Ahrimen are capable of posing as humans. What if the same is true here? What if Virgil _is_ Lord Zagan?"

Matthias leaned forward so far he almost fell out of his chair. "That would make sense! All the powerful magic he's had at his disposal … and the fact that he hasn't aged in thirty years—"

Bram piled on. "And recall that time in Angkor's Substratum. His face changed into something hideous, right when we had him cornered. It must have been a small part of Lord Zagan's true form sneaking through."

Matthias pulled at his beard. "Yes, it all fits. It means your brother might be just another pawn in Lord Zagan's master plan. In fact … I think we've been thinking about this all wrong. Perhaps Zagan hasn't betrayed Samuel so much as he's using him as a lure."

Bram scratched his head. "Wait. What? You think Lord Zagan is somehow behind our bargain with Samuel?"

Matthias explained. "Yes, and it's not about trading a fake Capricorn Stone, either."

Bram was still confused, so Matthias continued. "Just think about it … you carry the Pisces Stone, right? And we can assume your brother still has the Sagittarius Stone, since he stole it that day from the temple at Koba. Meanwhile, Libicocco carries the Gemini Stone, and don't forget that she vowed to follow us to your brother."

Bram's eyes went wide. "Dear Gaia, I can't believe I've been so daft! If we meet with Samuel and Libicocco follows us, there will be three sunstones in one room. And Lord Zagan carries the fourth. You're right, Matthias. Lord Zagan wants us to go after my brother, so that he can release the remaining Ahrimen. The whole thing's a trap!"

Bram's jaw clenched so hard it ached. Usually at this point, he would have gotten all fired up at being outsmarted by his enemy. But this time, all the energy and enthusiasm drained from his body. This was not just any old mission, nor had he been bested by any old enemy. This time, the fate of the world was at stake, and the price of failure was a fate worse than death for all of Gaia!

"So … this was Lord Zagan's plan all along." In the past, Bram would use his anger to forge new ideas and mount a stronger attack. But this time, he saw no way to emerge victorious. Lord Zagan had him in checkmate.

He was listless. All he could do was shake his head. "For thirty years, Zagan plotted to reunite the sunstones. All this demon needed was a kingdom as powerful Angkor to capture the sunstones by force, and trained grunts like my brother and me to do all the dirty work. We were Zagan's puppets all along."

A grunt escaped Matthias's lips. "It seems so … but at least we defeated King Richard. If we hadn't taken the Pisces Stone out of Angkor, Zagan would have already won. So let's be thankful for that. At least now we have a chance."

Bram practically laughed. "As if that makes a difference. Do you really think we can stand against three of the Ahrimen at once?" The Knight buried his face in his hands. His heart thumped loudly inside his chest. There was no way he could survive such an unwinnable battle. "Perhaps we should just turn around and think of a new approach."

Matthias regarded him crossly. "Bram, are you suggesting we give up?"

Bram could not believe his ears. Did Matthias actually think to press forward? The Knight bolted to his feet, feeling the need to defend his position. Blood pressure was on the rise. His chest was in a vice grip. He could hardly breathe! It was difficult not to sound frantic.

He spurted something. "I was more than happy to face off against my brother. But to march into a known trap, orchestrated by the most powerful demon of all time? It's suicide! Not to mention that we'd only end up releasing the other Ahrimen into the world. And that would just be giving Zagan what it wants!"

The wizard seemed unfazed. "I'm not suggesting anything foolish, Bram. In fact, I believe that if we think it through, we'll find a way to turn this in our favor."

The Knight stared back in disbelief. "How? The odds are completely against us. Libicocco, Belial, and Zagan—all at full strength! We barely survived facing just a single Ahriman in Angkor."

Matthias wagged his index finger. "Don't be so hasty. There's got to be some wild cards in this deck."

The gray wizard's optimism was refreshing. At the very least, it gave Bram pause. He figured he ought to listen to what the old sage had to say. If he did know something that would tip the odds, it would be worth it! So, reluctantly, Bram collapsed back in his chair and allowed Matthias to offer his wisdom.

The old sage was happy to oblige. "How about your brother, for starters? Samuel won't be too happy when he learns the truth about Virgil. He might even be willing to help us."

Bram shook his head. "We can't count on that. We don't even know what Samuel knows. We've only been speculating, after all. Besides, he's a natural born liar. You can't trust anything he says."

"Then what about the Pisces Stone?" Matthias pushed. "Libicocco backed down the last time you threatened to use it against her."

A chill crept up Bram's spine as he remembered his encounter with Abaddon. "You didn't see what I had to go through, Matthias. Underneath the castle at Garda, before you arrived, Libicocco did something to me that strengthened Abaddon's hold. The Ahrimen was tempting me to use its powers … and I almost gave in. I just can't risk that I'd up like King Richard."

Matthias sighed. "Alright then. That leaves one final option."

Bram knew exactly what the gray wizard meant. "Is that it, Matthias? Are you sure you want to use Apocalypsis?"

The old man frowned. "I've already made my peace, Bram. The Oracle taught me this spell for a reason, and I'm willing to sacrifice, if necessary. I promise it won't be for vengeance, though. If we get cornered by the Ahrimen … just know that I'd sooner roast every last one of them than allow them to use you like they did Richard."

Bram caught a sparkle of sincerity in the old wizard's eyes. It was warm and comforting, just when Bram needed it the most. He knew that—deep down—all Matthias needed was a bit of faith.

And Bram was ready to give it to him. "I trust you, my friend. I just don't want to lose you if there's another way."

The gray wizard smiled. He looked so different from the angry curmudgeon that Bram once thought he knew. "I know we haven't always seen eye to eye, Bram … but you're a good guy. And I'm sorry I misjudged you in Garda."

Bram's heart felt heavy. He knew this discussion would come, but he did not want it to turn into a farewell speech. He was not ready to say goodbye to the old sage. He wanted to reconcile … and to form the bonds of friendship that he knew had always been there. There were things he needed to say, and if he did not do so quickly, he might never get the chance.

"I'm sorry, Matthias." He was glad to get it off his chest, but the remorse was bittersweet. "I wasn't myself. And I regret what I said. You put your faith in my leadership … and I let you down."

"That's enough!" The gray wizard frowned. "We all make mistakes, Bram. Let's just recognize that and move on. If there's one thing I know … it's that you can't hold onto regret. You'll only end up regretting it."

A grin crept across Bram's face. He could not help it. Matthias had surely not intended to be funny, but his redundant response was delightfully awkward, and the mood so desperately needed to be lightened. Sure enough, the smile was contagious, and pretty soon Matthias was snickering out loud. Bram joined him, and in moments both men were in stitches. It was a wonderful experience. Despite the gravity of the situation, somehow Bram and Matthias had found something to laugh about.

At last, Matthias spoke. "I recognize the threat ahead of us, Bram, but I want you to think about something."

The old sage took a long deep breath before continuing. "A long time ago, I stopped believing in fate—or in gods and goddesses, for that matter. But look at how far we've come. We've stood against terrible risks, and we've endured. We even crossed paths at the Great Crevasse when the odds of that were astronomical! And then, we were trapped behind the blockage while trying to escape Angkor's Substratum, and you summoned your powers and broke through. By the way, that was in spite of struggling to use those powers only moments before. Lastly, you tricked Libicocco into lowering the anti-magic field, when Cedric and I thought you were a goner. I'm still surprised that actually worked."

Matthias had made his point. The Knight tried to comprehend these coincidences and how he came to beat the odds. And then he remembered. There was more than just divine providence assisting him. Most of the time, Bram had received help from some sort of spirit, e which seemed to reside within the Pisces Stone. Whenever things seemed hopeless, the spirit would emerge and show him the answer. It almost sounded crazy, and Bram might have even doubted his own memories had it not happened multiple times.

He thought about telling Matthias, but old wizard spoke instead. "Something powerful is guiding us, Bram. And yes … this is by far our most dangerous journey, but I believe we'll make it through … and I need you to believe it, too."

A chill crept up Bram's spine. Matthias was asking the Knight to believe in the kind of faith he usually had trouble doing. He had no more use for gods or fate than Matthias, yet the old wizard was asking him to believe in beating the odds, when every fiber of his being told him it would not happen again.

Of course, the thought of backing down was even worse. He would never have another chance to find his brother's base, not to mention another shot at saving Rosa. It was not about courage or bravery. It was about pressing forward when all the signs said it was a bad idea.

But if Bram was going to commit, he needed to do so with confidence. So he looked Matthias in the eyes and extended his hand.

"I'm in."

The gray wizard smiled as he shook it.

For some strange reason, Bram felt his apprehension disappear. In fact, renewing his pact with Matthias felt great! It was just like their first pact at the base of the Great Crevasse. Bram walked away from that conversation with hope, which burned brightly in his core of his gut and drove him forward. It almost felt like that hope had returned.

Bram wanted to relish it for a bit longer, but he was interrupted by the blare of the battle horn.

He quickly leapt to his feet. "It has to be Quon. He must have seen Kane's ship!"

Both men made their way to the deck. As Bram emerged from the hatch, a barrage of rain pelted his face. Wind and sheets of water bombarded the ship.

Quon joined them while pointing portside. Sure enough, a blinking red light emerged from the dark swirling clouds. He could not see the object behind it, but he was sure it was Kane's ship. Just barely over the wind, Matthias mumbled the words of a spell.

"Preparations," he explained. "Just in case."

Eventually, the outlines of an airship came into view. The red light came from a magical beacon that floated above the bow. Bram readied his sword, while Quon placed his fingers around a quiver of throwing knives. He and the Kenju would be ready to leap into combat if needed.

When the ship was close enough, it deployed the skybridge. Bram held back a reflex of scorn and anger when he first laid eyes his old friend's face. Kane was flanked by two additional Templars. He wasted no time in making his first demand.

"Present the sunstone."

His words were hollow, lacking emotion. Gone was the cocky attitude and overconfident demeanor. His face was blank and indifferent. Something was wrong. Regardless, Bram would not allow him to set the conversation.

"Where's Rosa?" He raised his voice to overcome the wind and rain. "You must give me assurances that she's still safe."

"Present the sunstone." The Templar repeated his demand with the same lifeless tone.

Bram was starting to get annoyed. "Not until I know she's safe!" he roared.

But his old friend was impervious to rage. Kane's eyes were empty and apathetic as sheets of rain covered him with a glistening coat atop his armor. The blinking red light almost made it look like blood.

Bram wondered if Kane might be controlled by one of the Ahrimen, so he looked for any outward signs. Unfortunately, Kane looked perfectly normal and lacked the strange blue glow that had once inhibited the eyes of Angkorian soldiers controlled by Abaddon's evil spell.

"Present the sunstone."

The Templar's deadpan tone suggested that he would not budge. Bram figured he would get nowhere arguing, and there was no point leaving the bargain with a stalemate so early. So he unfastened his pouch and withdrew the fake Capricorn Stone, holding it up for Kane to see. Even so, he gripped it tightly, fearing some kind of magic might wrest it from his grasp.

Of course, no such spell ever came, and Kane kept on going with his frighteningly monotonic voice. "Now … present the Pisces Stone."

Bram felt like a chump already. Kane left no room for assurances, nor did there appear to be any room for negotiation. At this rate, Bram would be handing over the sunstones without getting anything in return.

He figured it was time to play more aggressively. "That wasn't the deal! And if you ask me one more time to present a sunstone, I'll march over there and rip you apart. Now show me Rosa or the deal's off!"

Kane scrunched his brow ever so slightly. He appeared to be thinking of a new response.

"Things have changed," he replied blandly. "I must verify that you have the Pisces Stone, then you will accompany me back to Zounds. We will trade the sunstones for Rosa's life there."

Bram tensed. It was just like he and Matthias had predicted. It seemed more certain now than ever that Lord Zagan had orchestrated the trade as a trap to lure Bram back to the ship. But at this point, there was no turning back. Bram witnessed the events unfold, but he was powerless to change course. He had to believe that somehow the odds would turn in his favor.

So he removed the Pisces Stone from his pouch and held it up for Kane to see.

The Templar nodded. "Very well. Follow me." He then swiveled on his heel and returned to his ship along the skybridge.

Quon's gentle voice appeared at the Knight's side. "Bram, be careful. I sense a trap."

Bram spoke just loud enough for his friend to hear. "Don't worry. This is what we want. I'll explain as soon as I have a chance. Just follow my lead."

He went straight for the helm with Quon and Matthias at his side. It did not take long before Kane's airship ascended into maelstrom above. Bram readied the _Heron_ to follow.

Matthias looked worried. "The core of the storm's up there, Bram. You sure you want to be moving inside?"

"We don't have a choice," Bram answered. "Be ready with your magic."

Bram pushed forward on the throttle, aiming for the red blinking light. A massive bolt of lightning flashed directly overhead, followed by an ear-splitting boom. Wind and rain battered from all sides, almost sweeping Bram off his feet. He had made sure his sails were drawn and tied, but the masts still buckled and creaked under the pressure.

Matthias waved his hands and sent a faint white glow toward the masts.

"There," he announced. "I've strengthened the beams so they won't burst. Just don't lose your target!"

Bram was already going as fast as the engine allowed, but the red blinking light threatened to outpace him. It grew dim as it slowly disappeared behind the clouds. But Bram kept at it. As he climbed to thinner air, freezing temperatures chilled him to the core.

Quon crouched down to steady himself from the turbulence. "Where on Gaia is this blasted Templar taking us?"

"I don't know," Bram shouted over the storm. "Airships were never meant to ascend this high. Between that and the storm … he's insane!"

The entire hull creaked.

"I'm on it!" Matthias yelled as he cast another spell.

Bram worried how far he could push his airship. For all he knew, the lunatic Templar was leading them all to their own deaths. The Knight put his concerns aside, but he gripped the helm until his knuckles turned white.

At last, the clouds parted, and the _Heron_ emerged into a calm and clear blue sky. Then he saw it: A massive structure of unbelievable size floated in the distance. Its long narrow shape resembled an airship, but it was as large as a small city!

"Looks like you found _Zounds_."

Bram spun around to find his injured craftsman standing by the deck hatch. Bright white linen bandages were still wrapped tightly around his abdomen.

"Cedric, what are you doing up here?"

"You should be in bed," Quon advised.

The craftsman limped over. "You can't expect me to rest when my ship is practically being torn apart."

Matthias pointed to the colossal _Zounds_ airbase. "You built that thing?"

Cedric cocked his head to the side. "Well, I designed it, at least. However, the construction came from hundreds of master artisans. It's an engineering marvel, powered by manna."

"Manna …." Matthias sounded enthralled. "You mean this ship runs off of condensed magical energy?"

The craftsman exhaled with more than a hint of sadness. "It was supposed to be my life's greatest achievement … but now it's just a tool for the enemy."

Bram pointed. "What's that?"

Quon and Matthias gawked as a gigantic hatch opened near the bottom of the ship.

"I think they want us to fly inside," Cedric observed.

"We shall do no such thing," Quon advised. "It is foolhardy to rush in when we have a chance to hold back and formulate a more strategic approach."

"I wouldn't recommend that," Cedric warned. "See that right there?" He pointed to a gigantic set of cannons on either side of the ship. "They have their weapons trained on our location and can shoot us down at any time. There's no outrunning it."

Quon's eyes went wide. "Are you saying that we are already trapped? What about descending back into the clouds for cover?"

"No." Bram stepped forward. "It's time we confronted them head on. More time won't help us at this point. We've prepared as much as we can."

"But we need a plan, Bram," Quon insisted. "And we need one quickly!"

"I have an idea," Matthias proposed.

Bram nodded. "Go ahead, Matthias. We're in this together."

The four men gathered around as the gray wizard smiled. "Here's how we're going to beat them at their own game …."


	25. Chapter 9, Part IX

**.**

* * *

 **Part IX**

 _Afternoon of Terminus, Fourth Day of Duskmoon_

* * *

Samuel's eyes shot open.

For a brief moment, he was in a panic. He was seated in a dark room with no visibility. Disoriented, heart racing, he spoke a few words to summon a ball of light. But all it revealed was an empty scrying room, free of any threats. He cursed out loud, figuring he must have fallen asleep. It was a mistake only an amateur would make … not a veteran soldier.

He looked down to see his fingers clenched around the Sagittarius Stone. He had been using it to summon Belial's All-Seeing Eye, a wondrous ability that displayed the recent past or present of any place on Gaia, as long as he knew where to look. Ever since his spies in Kish verified that his brother had left the woodland city, Samuel had been using the Eye to sweep the Vinetan skies, hoping to stumble upon his brother's airship. He had hoped the reconnaissance would reveal key insights into how Abraham planned to stage his assault. Samuel assumed that—like himself—his brother would forego any honest trade in order to get the upper hand. Unfortunately, Samuel was unable to get any new information due to recent storms that obstructed his view.

It was not a huge setback. Samuel's new airbase had incredible weaponry, and Abraham was still blind to so much of his plans. Even so, he had underestimated his brother twice already, and he did not want to leave anything else to chance. Abraham now had two sunstones, and the stakes had never been higher. Samuel had to ensure that his brother would not escape again.

He let out a deep breath, still vexed with having dozed off at such a critical moment. Then again, he had been missing a lot of sleep in the last week. Not just the time he spent looking for his brother, but also his search for the so-called moonstones.

Samuel chuckled at the fanciful term. Humans had coined both the moonstones and the sunstones, but had the ancient name-makers ever truly grasped the artifacts' true powers, they would have surely chosen something more appropriate.

For Samuel's plans, it did not matter what he called them. All eight relics were needed before his objectives could come to fruition. In less than two weeks, the planet Gaia would be in the middle of a Celestial Convergence, an alignment of stars that allowed for the casting of certain Arcane magics. The event occurred only once in a thousand years, but it granted the power to open a portal to the very Heavens themselves. Through this portal, Samuel and his Master would have access to almost godlike powers. But if he was too late, the path would close until the next thousand-year cycle.

For everything to come together, a complex set of conditions needed to be met. Besides collecting all four sunstones and moonstones, Samuel needed to find an ancient structure known as Axismundi. It was deep inside this tower's innermost cloister that the path to the Heavens would be found. Fortunately, Virgil claimed to have found some leads, which he went to explore while Samuel remained on _Zounds_ to gather the remaining sunstones and moonstones.

Samuel's new airbase was more than just a collection of Angkor's newest destructive weaponry. It also contained a series of sophisticated scanners, which Samuel had developed over the years along with Virgil Garvey. The machines were designed specifically to detect the resonance energy of moonstones, which had been lost to the world since the last time the Ahrimen reigned.

Of course, there were limitations. The scanners could locate objects through walls and barriers, which allowed detection inside mountain caverns or deep under the ocean. However, even with many tireless days and nights circling the planet, the data from the scanners came back inconclusive. The only explanation was that the moonstones were hidden deeper than the equipment's range. Samuel knew of a few regions deep beneath the planet's surface that would qualify, but he had hoped to avoid venturing so far. Unfortunately, the evidence was incontrovertible. As soon as Samuel defeated his brother, he knew where to go next.

Of course, there was a second reason why the moonstones were critically important. Beyond their ability to activate Axismundi, they also contained the power to neutralize the Ahrimen's corruption. This was a protection that Samuel desperately needed, since he too was at risk of being corrupted by the Ahrimen. It was a curse he carried the moment he touched the Sagittarius Stone in the temple at Koba.

It was known as a Mark, and it occurred whenever a mortal came in contact with more than one sunstone at a time. Samuel had been carrying the Gemini Stone when he stormed the Koban capital, which he had recently taken from Kitezh. He had used Libicocco's power to make his fleet of Angkorian airships disappear and also to bolster his strength in magic. Unfortunately, Abraham had thwarted his siege by plunging a sword through his shoulder. And in a moment of panic, Samuel had grabbed the Sagittarius Stone and fled.

Once Marked, a person cannot part with their sunstone, no matter how hard they try. Meanwhile, the Ahriman is given access to the person's mind, which allows for a rapid period of corruption. By contrast, King Richard, who did not carry a Mark, used the Pisces Stone for nearly a month before succumbing to Abaddon's temptations. However, with a Mark, even the most righteous souls last little more than a few days.

Samuel might have already ended up such a victim, but he was saved thanks to a pact that he and Virgil had made before the Mark occurred. According to the pact, he and Virgil would assist the Ahrimen in both reaching and activating Axismundi. For the Ahrimen, the tower was the only thing standing between them and their dominion of the planet. But for Samuel, it was his gateway to absolute power. As long as he survived his mission, nothing else mattered. He would gladly hand the world of Gaia over to the Ahrimen, once it was all over. As long as it led him to victory.

Ironically enough, Abraham had also been meant to share in this dream. It was the Master's will that Abraham be one of the Chosen. Had he accepted the Sagittarius Stone and agreed be its bearer, he would have shared in unimaginable rewards. Instead, Abraham refused his destiny for the sake of that cursed child! If only Samuel had not lost focus, he might have triumphed in his mission and brought both the sunstone and his brother back to the Master. He might have also had his hands on the relic around the child's neck, which he was certain was a moonstone. He still had no idea how the child happened upon it, but he wished he had not been so hasty that day.

Unfortunately, his mission was a disgrace, and he ended it with a Mark. His only hope at that point was to depend on his pact with the Ahrimen. Although, at least it came with upsides. While under the curse, Samuel gained unfettered access to Belial's powers, including the All-Seeing Eye. The only condition was that he showed no weakness or indication of faltering from his task. After all, the Ahrimen were not known to be patient creatures. The closer Samuel neared to the Celestial Convergence, the more likely Belial might change its mind. At any time, the Ahriman could turn on him and devour his mind, body, and soul.

This was one of the reasons why Samuel worried about his sudden lapse of consciousness. It was unlike him to succumb to fatigue. Instead, if Belial were testing his limits … if the Ahriman somehow calculated that Samuel's failure was in its best interests ….

Another shiver ran up the Knight's spine. Indeed, the Ahrimen were unpredictable. He had no reason to suspect that Belial would sabotage his plans, but the timing was just unsettlingly suspicious. That he would fall asleep only hours before Abraham's arrival … Samuel had learned not to pass off coincidences like these. His instincts detected something insidious, and for a brief moment, an image of Virgil crossed his mind. His cohort was supposedly investigating the new leads on Axismundi … but was he really? Could Virgil have been responsible?

A little more than a week earlier, Samuel had cooked a vengeful plot against his cohort. Though he and Virgil shared a long history, the pompous halfwit had finally crossed a line. He dared to hoist Samuel's place at his Master's right hand, an unforgivable transgression. Virgil had somehow learned about Belial's Mark, and he must have tattled to the Master.

The result was a demotion for Samuel, which threatened his most precious of dreams. Everything in the Knight's life had been in preparation for reaching Axismundi, and _only he_ was to be at the Master's side. There was no way he would ever allow a fop like Virgil to take his place. His only option was to retaliate and attempt to regain the Master's trust.

He planned to embarrass Virgil by using his own ideas against him. It was a fairly simple ruse, since the impulsive fool was oft known to fire before waiting for his chance to aim. So when Virgil suggested using Libicocco to go after the final sunstone in Vineta, Samuel seized the opportunity.

He knew that Virgil's idea was terrible. Pact or no pact, there was no way to keep tabs on an Ahriman from thousands of leagues away. The demons were unpredictable, as evidenced time and again. But since Virgil had suggested it, Samuel used his clever tongue to trick his colleague into committing to the idea. And once it failed, his colleague would also experience a fall from grace.

As predicted, the Ahriman severed all communication shortly after stealing the sunstone from the Clerics. Samuel did not know the details, but it played into his hand perfectly. He would use the betrayal to illustrate Virgil's incompetence, while also leaving room to execute his own contingency plan, which he had developed in parallel with his apprentice, Kane.

The scheme was beautiful. Even if Abraham failed, the only loss would have been that of a worthy adversary. Even the Pisces Stone would have still been up for grabs, since Libicocco had no use for other sunstones. The demon's only true motivation was to reach Axismundi, which required the spell that Samuel and Virgil had been preparing. Sooner or later, Libicocco would return, and by then Samuel expected to have found a moonstone. At that point, he would have the leverage he needed to renegotiate the pact.

Of course, his brother had actually succeeded in recovering the Capricorn Stone from Libicocco. That presented its own challenges, but also some new opportunities. Rather than worry about Libicocco, Samuel could use Miss Reynolds to lure his brother to his death. After all, it would be foolish to honor an exchange that would allow another enemy to escape and track him down later. Rather, Samuel would wait until Abraham handed over the sunstones, and then he would use the awesome firepower of _Zounds_ to vaporize his brother's airship.

It was a fairly simple plan, but one that needed some preparation to ensure that Abraham would not escape. Fortunately, there was still plenty of time before his brother's arrival—even considering his recent nap. Samuel took one more deep breath. His coup de grace was at hand. All he needed was to close a few loose ends.

He rose from his chair to begin those preparations, but as soon as he was on his feet, a spine-tingling shiver ran across his body. It felt like something was watching him from inside the room. His instincts knew what it was, so he called out to the darkness.

"Libicocco, show yourself! I sense your presence."

Sure enough, a body that looked like the corpse of the Elfen king appeared out of the dark recesses of his scrying room. It was taller than Samuel remembered, with oddly feminine features: longer hair, a thinner jaw line, sharp fingernails, and the outline of a bosom. All signs that Libicocco was attempting to alter the body into a form that the demon saw more fit.

Regardless, its presence was an outrage, and Samuel would not stand for the insult. He stood tall and directed his ire. "You dare to show yourself upon my ship? After what you've done?"

"Silence, Vermin!" The Ahriman's voice had the sweet sound of a succubus, laced with the raspy tone of an old crone. "I'll not tolerate your insolence any longer. Pact or no pact, I'll reach inside that helm of yours and rip out your throat, so that the end of it dangles like a tongue outside your mouthpiece."

Samuel felt an emotion that had been absent for a long time … fear. This Ahriman was beyond his control, and he needed to choose his words carefully. But he would not back down. One way or another, he would assert his dominance. He kept his stare steady.

"That's better." The Ahriman must have mistook his hesitance for compliance, but it worked out just as well. Samuel held his tongue while the Ahriman spoke down to him. "I would have contacted you sooner, had I known where to find you."

Samuel's hatred gave him courage. He despised condescension, much less the wicked words of a traitor! Fortunately, he knew how to turn his rage into unwavering conviction. His voice was steady and perfect. "I don't make it my policy to broadcast my location to known defectors."

The creature resembling dead Arcesilaus bent over and cackled. "Is that what you think? And here I thought that _you_ had played _me_ as a fool."

Samuel did not understand what this creature implied, but it was clearly mocking him. He seethed inside his helm. "What's so funny?"

Libicocco snarled through a set of blackened teeth. "Did you actually think I betrayed you, just because I didn't return?"

Samuel clenched his fists so tight they could have turned stone into dust. The demon made no sense. His tone was decidedly harsh. "What of it?"

"Your attitude pushes my patience to the limit, Vermin, so let me be brief: I chose not to return because I discovered the cleric's sunstone to be a fake! I realized it shortly after leaving the city, so I assumed that you had betrayed me. But now, I realize that you were made into just as large a fool as I."

The claim hit him like a mortar shell, almost knocking him backward into his chair. The demon had no reason to lie … not this time. Samuel almost shook with rage and confusion.

"A fake? That's … not possible!"

"Believe it," Libicocco asserted. "Your partner did this to you. He must have expected you to turn on him, so he knowingly sent you after a fake. I'm impressed. The webs he weaves are almost as delicate as mine."

Samuel felt the blood drain from his face, and he struggled to keep his wits. "Virgil? _He_ did this?"

Libicocco's pasty face almost glowed with delight. The demon's voice was ear-piercing. "You haven't been paying attention, Vermin! While you overslept, this so-called colleague of yours … helped to lead … your enemies … right to your own front door …."

The corpse of Arcesilaus slowly descended into laughter, which continued even as Samuel banged his fist into the side of his iron chair. A series of solid but hollow thunks echoed throughout the chamber. But the demon happily persisted.

"How?" Samuel roared over the Ahriman's laughter. "Where is Virgil now? And where's my brother!"

Libicocco stopped laughing. "Your colleague is far, far away. Otherwise, I would have sought him out first. As for your brother, it's like I said: He approaches your ship as we speak."

The Ahriman's words took Samuel's breath away. Abraham was already on his way to confront him? But how could he be sure it was not all a trick?

"Prove it!" he demanded.

The rotting corpse waved its hands over Samuel's scrying pool. The Knight watched in horror at an image of Kane approaching Abraham's ship. Rather than adhere to his orders, Kane went far off script—something that should not have been possible, given his compromised state of mind. Unless … someone had given him new orders.

The recording showed Abraham pulling a sunstone out of his pocket, followed by another. There was no mistaking it: he carried two sunstones at the same time, impossible unless one of them were fake. Otherwise, the foolish Knight would have been demolished as two Ahriman battled for control of his body. There was no denying it. Virgil Garvey had indeed betrayed him.

Samuel shook his head in disbelief. Virgil had not just compromised his plans … the fool had also gone against the Master's wishes! Unless …. Samuel felt a sharp pain in his chest. Was it possible that the Master approved? Could the Master have sanctioned this betrayal …?

The Knight felt weak in the knees. Being at the Master's right hand should have been _his_ privilege … his _right!_ If Virgil had indeed taken it away from him ….

No! He would not show any weakness in front of the Ahriman. He would _not_ fail. He would face his brother and defeat him. And he would make Virgil pay with more pain and suffering than any man had ever felt before!

"Libicocco!" His voice was stern and resolute. He would play the cards he had been dealt, and he would emerge victorious! "You must help me to right this wrong. Together, we can still reclaim the Pisces Stone from my brother. I am still the only one who can help you reach Axismundi."

Arcesilaus' rotted and pus-filled face took on a shade of skepticism. "You already have my brother Belial to help you. Are you so weak that you need two of us to defeat your brother and his ragtag group of _humans_?"

Samuel believed he could convince this demon to lend him its power, but he would need to do so delicately. He did not want to reveal the true reason behind his hesitance, which was his lack of trust in Belial to maintain his side of the pact. If his Ahriman sensed any weakness, the demon could easily seize his body and devour his soul. Not to mention that Abraham had been growing in strength.

He had to come up with a plausible excuse—and quickly!

"Do not underestimate my brother, Libicocco. He won't hesitate to use Abaddon's powers against me. On equal footing, I'll manage, but only by destroying my brother's body in the process. Instead, if we use our combined powers to weaken him, perhaps we can make it so that Abaddon is finally free from its sunstone prison. Isn't that what you wanted all along? Grant me your strength, and I shall lead you to Axismundi's inner cloister and uphold our original bargain!"

Samuel held his breath, waiting to see if the demon would be swayed. He kept his glare locked on Arcesilaus' bloodless face, never wavering for a moment. After a long pause, the Ahriman finally relented.

"Very well, Vermin. It seems you might still prove useful to me. I suppose I can extend my good will … for a time … and see if you end up proving yourself worthy."

Samuel smiled under his helm. "So be it. Now, time is short, and I must yet gather my troops. Therefore, I'll take my leave."

The Ahriman said nothing, instead disappearing in a wisp of smoke. Samuel breathed a sigh of relief before leaving the scrying room.

* * *

~...~

* * *

Kane returned to the _Zounds_ airbase with an incredible feeling of emptiness. His insides churned, but not because of any physical or emotional pain. In fact, he felt absolutely nothing. The feeling was like circulating air … like the time he had come down with meningitis as a child.

It was a long time ago, but he remembered being sick in bed, feeling lightheaded, dizzy, and confused. It was as if his head were detached and stuffed with cotton bolls. But unlike any childhood sickness, this affliction left him fully alert and aware of the world around him. His mind worked perfectly. The only difference was the lack of any emotion.

He stumbled back to his quarters, pushing his way past scores of soldiers and wizards running to their posts. The entire ship was under red alert, but he paid it no heed. Instead, he replayed a particular scene over and over in his head, searching for answers. Mister Garvey had given him a set of instructions. They were simple enough, and he had completed them successfully. The only question was … why?

After all, the orders had dire consequences. By obeying Virgil, he had essentially betrayed the trust and loyalty of his patron, Samuel. Not only that, but he also led his childhood friend into a trap that might very well get him killed. And yet, where was all the sorrow and regret? Sure, Bram had betrayed him first, but days ago, Kane remembered intense feelings of remorse. Where had these gone? Had they somehow morphed into desires for vengeance? Feelings of hatred or rage? Somewhere deep inside, Kane felt as if these emotions still existed, but they were buried underneath a layer of complete and utter indifference.

It was hard to rationalize why he would even listen to Virgil in the first place. He used to despise Samuel's diabolical sidekick, but now he felt … nothing. His mind and memories were intact, but he had no attachment to any consequences. Nothing had context or meaning. He could not differentiate between things that gave him joy and those things that made him angry or sad. All the things that had once defined him … were gone. It was as if his life and soul had been sucked out of his body, leaving him to roam the decks of _Zounds_ as some kind of walking death.

Emotions were everything. Memories by themselves were meaningless, and decisions without context were irrelevant. If Kane could not describe what made him happy or regretful, then everything was subjective. There was no good or bad, no trust or skepticism, and no means to protect himself from another man's influence or ill-intent.

While puzzling through this conundrum, Kane had somehow made his way back to his quarters. Before he knew it, he was on his knees, rummaging through a chest of drawers. He had once considered the things inside to be among his most precious belongings. But now they were nothing to him. Cherished mementos of his past—keepsakes hoarded over so many years—now all worthless junk.

One drawer was full of items he had collected as a Templar. It included awards, plaques, and distinctions … but all were meaningless. He grabbed fistfuls of once-treasured tokens, stopping only briefly to evaluate their meaning before flinging them across the room. They were a lifetime of precious but useless objects. Sheets of parchment scrawled with poetry from when he was a young man, an antique broach that had once belonged to his mother, a pair of baby slippers that had covered the tiny feet of a long-lost baby brother … all rubbish!

He had all but emptied the drawer when his eye caught sight of one of the few remaining items. In between scraps of parchment and senseless bric-a-brac was a small vial filled with black liquid. It was just about the size of his thumb. It came with vivid memories of a time when he had intended to use it as a poison to take his own life. Shortly before he followed through, Samuel had confiscated it. Much later, Kane had rummaging through bins of trash, desperate to find it. Those were his darkest days … but he failed to recall the reasons behind his actions.

Perhaps he had wanted to remind himself of how close he had come to death. Or maybe he wanted to have it as a weapon to use against future enemies. Or, it could have just been a handy shortcut the next time he contemplated suicide. He decided it was the latter, most likely. And why stop now? Why not finish the job? His fear of dying had stopped him before, but it certainly would not stand in his way now. There was just one loose end … the matter of the _witch_ who had poisoned his mind.

Indeed, she seemed relevant, now. Miss Reynolds had broken him by rummaging through his head, much like he was rummaging through old trash. She had taken his emotions … made him like this … this walking death. He should enact vengeance. It was there … buried deep inside of him. He just needed to let it out.

His eye caught something else lying upon the trash-strewn floor—the golden hilt of a ceremonial dagger, which had been proudly presented to him by a high ranking Angkorian officer. It must have been a tremendous honor at the time, but now it was just a tool of convenience.

Kane took it and left the room. He had one final mission to complete.


	26. Chapter 9, Part X

**.**

* * *

 **Part X**

 _Afternoon of Terminus, Fourth Day of Duskmoon_

* * *

Bram drew in another deep breath as he prepared himself for his upcoming confrontation. Waves of dread hit him as soon as the _Heron_ approached the entry hatch of the great _Zounds_ airbase. Chills coursed through his body, numbing the tips of his fingers and toes and stirring the fluids in his gut.

He tried to put his mind at ease using a form of warrior's discipline accumulated over dozens of battles. It was a meditative state, in which he regulated his breathing, relaxed his muscles, and focused his mind on the task at hand. But even with these techniques, he could not shake the feeling of impending doom.

By now, he was well aware that the exchange set up by his brother would end in disaster. It was a trap, but not one that Samuel had orchestrated. Rather, it was borne of the crafty machinations of a very dangerous Ahriman.

Known as Lord Zagan, this demon had escaped its sunstone prison thirty years earlier due to the secret experiments performed by one of Maurice Vance's rogue apprentices. While certain parts of the story were still missing, Bram believed this apprentice was none other than his archenemy, Virgil Garvey.

It seemed certain that Virgil had stolen the Capricorn Stone, released the demon inside, and replaced the stone with a convincing fake before the clerics were any wiser. And, just as with King Arcesilaus, this Ahriman had stripped Virgil of his humanity, leaving no more than a husk of flesh behind. This way, Lord Zagan could masquerade as a human while discretely enacting its vengeance.

Of course, a lot could happen over thirty years. Bram had no way of knowing what other nefarious schemes Lord Zagan had put in motion, but he had to assume the end goal was to assemble all four sunstones in close proximity. Doing so would end the enchantment binding the remaining Ahrimen to their prisons, and they would be free to enslave all of Gaia.

Sure enough, the demon was already halfway toward its goal. Thanks to King Arcesilaus, who had quickly yielded his body to Libicocco, only two remaining Ahrimen were still trapped inside their sunstone prisons. Bram carried one of these inside the Pisces Stone, while Samuel held the other. Once Bram reached his brother, he expected Libicocco to appear with the Gemini Stone, and Lord Zagan would then have the perfect opportunity to reveal the fourth and unleash a calamity upon the world.

Bram needed a good plan. Unfortunately, his options were limited. Samuel's gigantic airbase had its weapons trained on the _Heron_ , and even if Bram could outrun _Zounds_ , he would forfeit his opportunity to confront his brother—not to mention save Rosa's life. He had to face a new reality: It was too late to turn back, and Samuel had already stacked the odds in his favor. Therefore, Bram improvised by turning to his friends.

He already trusted Quon and Matthias with his life. Both men were steadfast and dependable companions with unique skillsets. But now, the Knight needed to go one step further and endanger his friends with the power of the Pisces Stone. He shuddered at the thought of handing off a demon of unbelievable malice and corruption to a person he cared very much about … but it was his only choice. He only hoped his instincts were correct.

As he thought more about it, the _Heron's_ bow passed the threshold of _Zounds'_ hatch. The beautiful sunlit sky slipped away as Bram crossed into a dark and foreboding interior. A small army of soldiers awaited him, no doubt escorts provided by his brother to ensure that his demands went unchallenged. They would soon march Bram and his friends to their master, and before that happened, the Knight needed to ensure that the Pisces Stone was as far away as possible.

To that end, he entrusted it to Quon. He knew Samuel's men would thoroughly search the _Heron_ , but there was a hidden compartment, deep within the ship's holds, where Quon could hide with impunity. It even had enough room for Cedric, too. When the coast was clear, Quon would sneak past enemy sentries and attempt his own mission aboard the _Zounds_ airbase.

While Bram and Matthias confronted Samuel, Quon would search the ship for Rosa. With any luck, he would find and lead her to safety, all while protecting the Pisces Stone from falling into Zagan's trap.

It was a good plan, especially considering the short timeline; even so, the decision had been difficult for Bram. His first instinct was to distrust other people with the sunstone's power, a feeling that came from an ethic of independence developed throughout Bram's adult life. Later, this feeling was bolstered by his induction into the Gnostic Knighthood. Bram's old corps taught that self-reliance was mankind's greatest virtue. Though Bram had long since cast aside his darksteel values in favor of Grigori principles, the old creed was difficult to kick.

After all, in many cases these beliefs had served him well. In the right proportions, they were essential for survival. Unfortunately, the Ahrimen played by a different set of rules. They preyed on a man's doubts, amplified their fears, and exploited their insecurities. They took a person's most cherished and intimate wishes and turned those against them. Unfortunately, the more a man isolated himself, the more he was vulnerable to the Ahrimen's corruption.

While beneath Arcesilaus' castle, Abaddon had tempted Bram to use the sunstone for vengeance against his brother. The scary part was how close he had come to accepting the Ahriman's terms. He remembered the uncontrollable rage and frustration—the likes of which he had never felt before!

There was no escaping it. Bram needed to come to terms with his weaknesses and turn to his friends for support. Fortunately, it seemed the Ahrimen's corruption held less sway in the company of friends. Bram knew that Quon could be trusted with the Pisces Stone. The harder part was surviving the encounter with his brother.

Fortunately, Matthias had come up with another good idea. It had to do with _Zounds'_ fuel source, the form of condensed magical energy known as manna. If the gray wizard were able to harness this energy—perhaps by exposing the ship's fuel lines and tapping into them—he would bolster his magic without needing to cast Apocalypsis.

Bram just hoped the old man knew what he was doing. Otherwise, there would be no second chances. Even death would be a blessing compared to what Lord Zagan could do to them. This made Bram's mission even more dangerous.

It was time. The _Heron_ had landed in _Zounds'_ hangar, and the ship was surrounded. Bram and Matthias disembarked to a platoon of no less than five dozen soldiers and wizards. There was no way to overpower these men without using the sunstone.

The gray wizard said nothing. Even his telepathic voice was silent, suggesting that he had already been surrounded by an anti-magic field. Bram searched through the lines of men to see if he could recognize Kane. However, it seemed his old friend and nemesis was nowhere to be found.

Instead, a man in highly decorated uniform stepped forward with an outstretched hand. Bram recognized him as a former general who had once served King Richard. In fact, many of Samuel's men had familiar faces. It made sense, since Angkor's recent fall had made the country a convenient recruiting grounds.

"Hand over your weapons," the man ordered.

Bram drew his sword. "Oswald, isn't it?"

The general took a step back and Bram seized his chance to set the right tone. "There will be no concessions. Not yet! You'll take me to my brother, and we'll conduct the trade as agreed. Otherwise, you'll fight us here and face the wrath of the sunstone!"

Bram hoped his bluff would be enough to sway these men. Surely they knew he would be carrying a sunstone, and they would not want to displease their master by forcing him to unleash its power too early. Indeed, the former general's lips tightened. His eyes narrowed and his brows lowered as he no doubt wrestled over the best course of action.

At last, he conceded. "Keep your weapons, if you must. They'll do you no good where you're going, anyway. Just know that if you attempt to use them, it'll be the last thing you ever do."

Bram wore a satisfied grin. He sheathed his sword and followed the crowd of soldiers and wizards into the _Zounds_ airbase.

One thing he noticed right away was the all-metallic interior, which was different from most other airships. It reminded him more of the time he had once traveled through a silver mine. The long dark tunnels were treacherous, full of sharp rocks and steep embankments. So the miners built scaffolds made of iron grates—metal walkways that stretched endlessly into the side of the mountain. The tunnels here were not much different.

Of course, this time Bram was flying thousands of spans above ground, and the gentle hum of manna-driven engines reminded him of this. It almost sounded like distant waterfalls. And unlike the mine, which had stone and packed earth along the sides of the tunnel, these slender corridors were surrounded by more metal. Ghostly strips of luminess hung from the ceiling, providing dim illumination.

The most notable feature of these bland passages was the brightly glowing conduits running along either side. One side radiated crimson, while the other a deep azure—reminiscent of veins and arteries carrying oxygen throughout the bloodstream. Bram figured these conduits carried the exotic manna. It was a marvelous creation, a combination of state-of-the-art science with advanced wizardry. Bram was amazed that Cedric had been the brainchild. The craftsman's vision and talent was surely ahead of its time.

In fact, the Knight was in awe over much of the ship, especially its sheer size and scale. Each corridor had multiple branching passages, and each passage led to a blast door, similar to the ones in Angkor's Substratum. The doors were able to withstand large explosions, including dynamite. As the platoon of soldiers approached, each of the doors opened automatically, leading deeper into the airbase.

After traveling through several of these, Bram's escort came to a sudden halt. There did not appear to be anything special about this particular passage. It was just another empty corridor. A long and uncomfortable silence followed, prompting the Knight to speak up.

"Why have we stopped? Where's Samuel?"

As if in response, the blast door ahead of him opened. On the other side stood the Gnostic Knight in full regalia. His face was hidden by the signature skull-shaped helm, but Bram felt his brother's presence. He was also quick to notice Rosa's absence. Not that it was much of a surprise. He had already anticipated the exchange to be a sham, but now there was no denying it.

Samuel had stacked everything in his favor: the swarm of endless soldiers and weapons, the wave of wizards with spells on their lips, and nowhere to run. Bram looked over his shoulder to his gray robed companion, who wore an expression of quiet calculation. Bram hoped that Matthias would be ready to act, if needed.

He wasted no time. Even at a disadvantage, Bram would not let Samuel set the tone. He kept his voice steady and firm.

"Where's Rosa?"

"Hand over the sunstone," the Gnostic demanded.

The scene was quickly playing out as it had with Kane. But this time, Bram would not be so passive. It was his turn to call the shots. "Remove your helm and face me, Brother. I wish to parlay."

A slow and guttural chuckle came from beneath Samuel's armor. It was arrogant and condescending, no doubt amused that Bram would challenge him against the odds. Nevertheless, Samuel reached around to the back of his neck and unclasped the great horned helmet.

Bram watched closely. The first time he had met Samuel was at the Koban temple, and Bram had been in shock at the time. He hardly remembered anything, except the strikingly similar features: argent-colored hair, pale blue eyes, and the strong jawline. Samuel still wore a beard, but most other features were uncannily similar.

Even so, he noticed some stark differences. For one thing, Bram's brother now had dark circles under his eyes, suggesting a lack of sleep. His expression was hard and deliberate—almost chiseled in stone—but his left brow twitched ever so slightly, and his scowl betrayed an underlying rage that seemed to go beyond his quarrels with Bram.

There were a number of nervous twitches under the surface. Bram suspected that Samuel had recently learned the truth about Lord Zagan's betrayal, and like Bram, he was going through the motions with the hope that things would play out in his favor. And Bram wondered … if Samuel truly came to the meeting with foresight of Zagan's trap, what additional contingencies had he put in place?

The Gnostic spoke, his voice containing just a hint of uncertainty. "So … you came to face me, knowing what I had planned? Quite bold of you, Brother. Perhaps I will allow a few questions, if you agree to answer some of mine."

Bram stepped forward brazenly, using his gauntlet to brush aside a row of deadly swords on either side. The soldiers nervously let him pass, though they looked to their leader for orders. Orders that never came. Samuel only glared at Bram as he made his way forward.

The Grigori summoned all his courage and conviction. "I know that you know the truth. The Capricorn Stone is a fake. So how about we dispense of the doublespeak and discuss terms."

Samuel's Gnostic armor gave him a bit of a height advantage, which he used to look down on Bram with disdain. "Whatever you think you know … it's rubbish."

Bram dug into his belt pouch and withdrew the fake sunstone. He waved it menacingly in the air before tossing it to Samuel's feet. Some of the nearby soldiers recoiled, no doubt expecting a dangerous display of magic. But Samuel never flinched. He merely glanced at it with disinterest.

"You see?" Bram pointed with a gauntleted hand. "There's your fake sunstone, Brother. The one you sent an Ahriman to fetch for you, until it betrayed you. That's when you sent me, still believing that I would deliver your prize. But now look. It falls beneath your feet and you do nothing. That's not rubbish. It's proof!"

Samuel's gaze was unwavering, but his left brow twitched with uncontrollable spasms of anger. "If you came here thinking this knowledge gives you any leverage, you are gravely mistaken."

Bram met his brother's glare. "And if you had wanted me dead, you'd have done it already. We don't need to fight each other, Samuel. We're both Zagan's victims! We should be working together to take down this Ahriman."

Samuel's façade finally cracked. He looked at Bram with a mixture of outrage and incredulity. "What in the Burning Pits are you talking about?"

Bram drew a deep breath, wishing his brother would speak plainly for once. "I'm talking about Virgil Garvey. I know he's been manipulating us since the beginning. And I know that he's nothing more than a mask, worn by Lord Zagan so this demon can pose as a human. He tricked us both—"

"Silence!" Samuel roared, baring his teeth like a tiger ready to pounce. "You're a fool, Abraham! To think that you've defied me at every turn … all because you act on such impulsive _nonsense!_ "

The bile stirred in Bram's gut. Either Samuel was speaking the truth, or his lies were becoming more convincing. Or, perhaps, the Gnostic Knight was still ignorant of Virgil's past. It was time to bring it all into the open.

"Here's what I've learned, Brother: Virgil was once an apprentice under Maurice Vance, and he went by the alias of Galiver Givry. He was the one who took the real Capricorn Stone and replaced it with a fake. That was thirty years ago. Everything he's told you since then—including the notion that the sunstone in Vineta was real—has been a lie."

Samuel looked ready to breathe fire. "You concoct nothing but stories, Brother! Virgil is no more an Ahriman than I am. He's one of my Father's minions, no more. _Our Father_ , Brother … who art all powerful and knowing. _He_ is the one I serve. Not Virgil, and certainly not one of the Ahrimen!"

Bram felt as if the floor had just dropped out from under him. Samuel's words could have been a club that bludgeoned him across the head. He would have never imagined that his father—a man who had been absent all his life—was the true mastermind behind the sunstones and the Ahrimen.

The very claim—truthful or not—sent all of Bram's notions into turmoil. Was it a lie? Another complicated factor meant to confuse him? Should he demand proof? Or dismiss it altogether?

But … what if it were true? Bram struggled to internalize what that meant. It changed everything: his mission, his assumptions, his hypotheses …. Samuel had succeeded in challenging all that he thought he knew.

The Gnostic grinned, wearing the look of a chess master about to put his opponent in checkmate. "So," he crowed, "you never knew. I figured as much."

Bram struggled to remain coherent. "Why should I believe you?"

Samuel chuckled. "Whether or not you accept the truth is meaningless to me. You've lived all your life in ignorance. You can die without that knowledge, too."

The pressure in Bram's gut was building. He was the core of a volcano, ready to blow. But he forced the bile down a little bit longer. "Is that it, then, Brother? You would treat the truth like a currency with which to barter?"

"Not only that." Samuel grinned even wider. "I would use it as a weapon, too."

Bram gritted his teeth. This man of his own blood was so malicious and unforgiving! And Bram did not understand how he wielded his hatred so indiscriminately. "Why! Why have you made this so personal? You've taken me to the brink of insanity, and yet you still drive the wound deeper. Even when I stand before you willing to parlay!"

Samuel bashed his gauntlet into the metal railing at his side. It sent a cold metal clank throughout the chamber. "Enough! You're a fool for coming here in the first place if you thought to sway me with mere words. Besides, you have it all wrong, Abraham. This has never been personal. Not from me, anyway."

Bram was stunned at the audacity. "How can you say this has not been personal? You recruited a childhood friend and used him against me. You took my fiancée to use her life as a bargaining chip. And you were willing to use my body as a puppet to one of the Ahrimen. So don't tell me this hasn't been personal!"

Bram almost forgot that he was surrounded by a horde of Samuel's men. Weapons were drawn on all sides, and rows of eyes were transfixed on his conversation. He felt the sudden urge to draw his sword and end the farce right away. Even Matthias wore a rose-colored hue atop his cheeks, no doubt wanting to add some choice words to the debate.

Bram very nearly gave in to his temptations when Samuel spoke. This time, the Gnostic's voice was more genuine than mocking, which gave Bram pause.

"No, Brother. Those things you list were merely the consequences of your attempts to thwart my every move. I never intended to harm you. In fact, I had preferred reconciliation, even offering you the opportunity to join me and learn the truth. Our encounter in Koba was such an instance, and the Sagittarius Stone was a gift from our Father. Had you accepted it and returned with me, he would have bestowed you with unbelievable power. But instead you plunged a sword into my shoulder."

Bram practically choked on the lies. "How dare you pervert the facts in such a way? You had already shown your true colors when you sent my best friend on a mission to slay an entire race of people. And you commanded him to murder me when I refused to play a part. As for the sword, it was fitting retribution for your attack on an innocent child. You can call the sunstone a 'gift', but I recognized the thinly veiled attempt to turn me into a host for the Ahriman. Don't think you can sugar coat the past and convince me of some hidden benevolence, because I've seen enough to know what you're really after."

Samuel shook his head and scoffed. "Oh, Abraham. It seems you have a penchant for mixing fact with fiction. Our Father ordered the extermination of the Ur people, because the Conjurions presented a threat to our plans. Had you done as you were told, you would have learned why."

Bram clenched both hands into fists. He knew there must have been a deeper meaning behind the attack on Ur, but he had never suspected his father had been behind it. Unless … it was just another of Samuel's lies.

"You also have it wrong about the child from Ur," the Gnostic continued. "I never meant her any harm. I was merely enthralled with the jewel she wore around her neck, which by the way carries unfathomable powers. You should not be so quick to judge, Brother. Had you not stood against me, we could have reconciled much sooner."

Bram gritted his teeth. Samuel had a wondrous ability to pepper his facts with fiction so finely that it was difficult to tell one from the other. But in the end, perhaps the actual truth did not matter. As confused as Bram felt, he knew one thing for sure: Samuel was his enemy. No matter what his brother said or stood for, the Gnostic had to be defeated.

"Don't you see, Abraham? All this time, you've been wrong about _everything_. You—"

"No! _You're_ the liar!"

Bram was surprised by the outburst, which came from his rear. These were the words he had wanted to say, but a certain gray wizard beat him to it. Apparently, Matthias could no longer contain his indignation.

Samuel glared at the man in gray robes, scrunching his face in an expression of pure contempt. "I don't know you, mage, but I can sense your power. Nevertheless, you cannot access it here, which makes you as helpless as a lamb up for slaughter. The only question is whether I should allow you to beg for your life before I destroy you."

By now, the old wizard's face had turned beet red. "I've been silent for too long. Your claims are rubbish, Samuel! You've never had a right to the sunstones, but you've waged plenty of war to get them, leaving a path of death and ruin in your wake. One of those lost lives was someone I cared for. Her name was Angela … my daughter. So don't expect me to grant you mercy for what you've done!"

"I won't stand for your insolence, Wizard!" Samuel's face was contorted in rage. "The time for parlaying is _over!_ "

The angry Gnostic turned his attention to his brother. "Do you have the Pisces Stone or not? I've humored your requests and answered your questions, hoping that by revealing the truth, you might finally end your crusade against me. But, clearly I was disillusioned. I'll won't waste any more time convincing you. Either hand it over or die!"

Bram had also decided not to spend more time parsing his brother's truths from his lies. "The agreement was in exchange for Rosa," he maintained. "Where is she?"

"You'll be lucky to leave here with your own life," Samuel snarled. "Especially if you came here empty-handed!"

Bram strode forward, hoping to continue his bluff long enough to discover Rosa's location—or at the very least, confirm her wellbeing. "Of course I have it. And I'm willing to trade. But you've given me no assurances. I want to know where you're keeping her."

Samuel's pupils seemed to burn with an internal flame. "You'll get nothing from stalling. Just know that her moments are numbered. Even as we speak, your old friend, Kane Harding, has been instructed to dispose of her."

Bram's vision turned red. Samuel's threat released the high-pressure rage building inside of him. "You heartless son of a bitch. I'll kill you!"

The rage even caught Samuel by surprise. "Careful, Brother. You're on thin ice as it is. I could easily kill you and take the sunstone off your corpse. But if you hand it over … _now_ … you might be able to reach Miss Reynolds before Mister Harding slits her throat."

The temptation to leap forward and wrap his hands around his brother's throat was too much for Bram to take. Even with dozens of Samuel's troops in one crowded corridor, his blade was in his hand before he knew it. Many of the soldiers were unprepared for Bram's reflexes. Before they could react, his silver Grigori blade had already sliced through several of them.

The room quickly erupted into chaos. Bram wanted to slay more, but he came to realize that Matthias was in danger. Instinctively, he summoned his Grigori powers to protect his friend. He had not used them since the gigants' assault, so the powers still felt foreign to him. Even so, he could not afford to doubt himself. Against so many men, he had only one chance to free his mind and fill his heart with the desire to help Matthias. Otherwise, his friend would be vulnerable to multiple swords flying through the air. He would get skewered in no time.

Fortunately, the gamble was a success. Though Bram's Grigori powers were often unpredictable, this time they managed to do some good. A bright light flashed, and Samuel's soldiers and wizards recoiled to shield their eyes.

This gave Matthias the distraction he needed. His anti-magic field faltered long enough for him to swing his staff directly against the manna-filled arteries on the side of the corridor. Then, with a word of magic, the outer casing shattered.

Bram squeezed his eyes shut while following through with a parry and roll, narrowly dodging a nearby attacker. When he next examined his surroundings, he saw Matthias surrounded by a halo of bright manna-filled energy. He held up his staff, and a vibrating surge knocked every one of Samuel's men off his feet. It was followed with a purple haze that descended from above, putting every last soldier and wizard into a deep sleep.

Of course, Samuel was impervious to the spells. He stood rigidly, though his scowl had deepened profusely.

"So … you've found a way to access your powers," he snarled. "It seems my sources in Angkor were not mistaken. But don't think this changes a thing. I won't let you or your wizard escape. Not without my sunstone!"

Samuel drew his sword, the same darksteel that he had brought to the Koban temple. It throbbed with an eerie glow that seemed to subtract light from the room, forming an aura of darkness around the blade.

"No you won't, Brother." Bram stepped into a fighting stance. "The sunstone is well outside your reach. You'll never have it."

Samuel bared his teeth. "You can't have hidden it far. I saw you with it prior to coming on board. First I'll destroy you … then I'll tear this ship apart until I find it!"

Samuel swung his sword arm back, but before he could strike, a bright white bolt of mystical energy flashed across the room, narrowly missing its mark. Bram looked over his shoulder at his gray-robed companion.

"I think not." Matthias wore a triumphant expression. "It's over, Samuel. Just be thankful that I'm willing to spare your life, rather than give in to more vengeful desires."

"You'll regret your moment of hesitation, Mage!" Samuel hurled a raging bolt of fire. Bram jumped backwards, narrowly dodging the blast. Waves of heat singed the whiskers on his chin.

Matthias raised his staff, and the flame dissipated before reaching him. He was still surrounded by a circle of manna, which leaked from the nearby conduit. Samuel reached out with his hand, perhaps intent on grabbing some of his own, but Matthias circumvented it. He cast a protective barrier along the side of the corridor, preventing Samuel's spell from breaking through the casing.

"I won't be defeated by the likes of you," Samuel roared. "Libicocco, reveal yourself!"

Bram's heart sank when he heard the Ahriman's name. He rejoined Matthias, hoping he and the wizard could handle the terrible demonic power that was on its way there.

Samuel's plea did not go unanswered. A shadowy substance materialized beside him, seemingly out of thin air. Slowly, it coalesced into the shape of a body … one that vaguely resembled King Arcesilaus.

Except, it had changed into something grotesque and demented. The skin was ashen like a corpse, yet shiny and scaly like the texture of a snake. The thing's arms and legs were long and skinny, no longer resembling anything human. Its fingers had razor-sharp nails, and its eyes were the color of blood. Of course, most striking of all were the feminine features, as if this demon attempted to adapt its body to the female sex, but never quite reaching the endpoint.

Its voice was high-pitched and cronish. "My insects have returned. And you've grown stronger since last we met. This pleases me."

"Destroy them," Samuel commanded. "Then we search for their friends. I know there were others aboard their ship before they landed, and they've taken Abaddon's sunstone with them."

Bram braced himself for the Ahriman's wrath, but instead it tilted back its head and laughed. "I have a better idea, Vermin. Why don't you call upon my brother Belial for help?"

"That's not what we agreed!" Samuel practically sputtered his response. He was furious, but the Ahriman appeared to find it humorous.

"Oh, but it serves me better, Vermin. If you triumph, then I'll use this one's body for my brother, Abaddon." The corpse of Arcesilaus pointed to Bram. "On the other hand, if you fail … then my brother Belial shall have _yours!_ "

Samuel's eyes opened wide enough to fall out of their sockets. "What! You would betray me? What about our pact?"

Libicocco laughed. "I can't depend on an ant like you to lead me to Axismundi. You can't even defeat this rabble by yourself. So seek Belial, instead. As for me … I'm off to find my brother, Abaddon."

With that, Libicocco disappeared once again into the shadows.

Samuel's face glistened with sweat. He knew he had played his last hand and lost.

Bram could not believe his fortune. He advanced forward, daring his brother to a game of chicken. If he understood Libicocco's implication, then Samuel's only option was to use the sunstone, at which point he'd very likely lose his soul to Belial. It was either that … or surrender.

Bram was sure that Samuel would not risk his own soul—not given his other ambitions. This was finally Bram's chance to gain the upper hand!

"Not so fast!" Samuel challenged. "Fight me and you forego your only chance to save Miss Reynolds!"

Bram held his sword ready, which was backed by Matthias' magic. "You've wasted your remaining credibility, Brother. I'm taking you with us. And if I find out later that anything has happened to Rosa … I'll kill you."

"Once again, you'll rue your hesitation," Samuel teased, while casting a spell under his breath.

"Matthias, stop him!" Bram yelled. But it was too late. A dark orb full of black swirling smoke appeared, and Samuel stepped into it. A transport gate. Bram roared in frustration. He wanted to dash through and kill his brother on the spot, but a strong hand held him back.

"Wait," Matthias urged, but Bram would not be talked out of his bloodlust.

"Let me go!" he demanded.

"No, Bram. Stop!" Matthias' tone was firm but also soft and considerate. "You need to remember what the Oracle told you."

The words were just enough to give Bram pause.

"Your job is to protect the sunstone. That means going after Libicocco. And—Gaia help us—if Rosa's still alive, she needs your help, too."

Bram ground his teeth in frustration. The old wizard was right. But it felt so … wrong!

"I'll take on Samuel," Matthias assured. "This is what I was always meant to do. And if needed, I'll use Apocalypsis."

The pain in Bram's chest was unbearable. It was his fault that Samuel had escaped! He had hesitated just long enough for his brother to cast his spell. Matthias now had to risk his own life because of Bram. His brother was his responsibility!

"Don't feel sorry for me," Matthias commanded, as if reading Bram's thoughts. "And don't follow, either. Please. This is my battle."

With that said, the old wizard leapt into the portal. Bram held back the urge to follow, and he watched in frustration as the black orb shrunk out of existence and disappeared. Except for the sleeping soldiers and wizards still lying in piles on the floor, he was all alone.

Cursing loudly, he ran through the blast door and into the next corridor. If Rosa was still alive, she would not be for much longer. And Bram would not waste another precious moment hesitating.


	27. Chapter 9, Part XI

**.**

* * *

 **Part XI**

 _Afternoon of Terminus, Fourth Day of Duskmoon_

* * *

Rosa tried to relax, but her nerves would not let her. She was exhausted, and not just from lack of sleep—or from any of her claustrophobia-driven panic attacks. At least those were waning as she slowly grew accustomed to her tiny living space. Instead, her weariness came from being tormented by the apparent lack of punishment following her attempted infiltration and narrow escape from Kane's Memories.

After everything that happened to Kane that night, she expected him to end up mentally and emotionally crippled, if he even awoke at all. She also expected Samuel to be furious. At the very least, he might dole out some kind of physical retribution—and that was if she were lucky!

So she lived the next three days in fear. Sleep was near impossible, since at any moment, Samuel or one of his minions might enter and slit her throat. While awaiting her demise, she laid curled up on her cot, wasting away the hours with eyes transfixed on the door. Of course, catching a potential killer as he entered would not have made a difference. She was helpless, and she knew it.

All the waiting made her nervous and edgy. The next morning, when a man entered with the usual food tray and hygiene bucket, she screamed. The man jumped, slopping half her meal on the floor. A pasty stew of potatoes, cabbage, and carrots with far too much starch in the gravy became a new fixture for her to stare at while her stomach rumbled. By the time she pulled herself out of her catatonic trance to clean it up, it had already formed a hardened crust that resisted her bare hands and chipped fingernails. So she used the edge of her plate to scoop up as much as possible, rubbing in a bit of water from the bucket to dissolve the disgusting gruel.

She sighed, wishing she had a simple towel. Anything, really, just to feel clean again. The bucket and small latrine in the room's corner were grossly insufficient, especially given a lady's needs. But, at least the mess had given her something to think about besides her recent experiences in Kane's Memories. She would have preferred a hundred messes over experiencing those evils again.

She shivered at the mere thought of what happened that night, when the dark presence almost smothered her. It was a manifestation of pure evil, seeping hatred, and deep malice like nothing Rosa had ever experienced. And since her return to the real world, she had spent too many hours pondering what it was.

For one thing, it was not natural. Bram's old friend had grown up with a troubled past, but even the most cold-hearted killers did not form traumatic manifestations that hunted down visiting wizards. Not to mention what had happened afterward: Deviants and Personas merging into powerful entities, something no wizard or researcher had ever observed before. If anyone had, they would have leapt at the chance to publish papers, and the world would have known about it. Rosa would have known about it, too. Quite possibly, no wizard on Gaia had ever observed a case as unique as Kane's.

At first, Rosa figured it was the result of Samuel's wizards manipulating Kane's mind as he slept. However, she soon rejected that idea. Wizards did not have that kind of power. She had heard rumors of rogue wizards, whose experiments included repeated injections of emotional stress on their test subjects. The idea was to develop a form of subtle brain-washing without the usual traces of Compulsion magic. However, such experiments typically ended in failure, with the wizards trapped inside their patient's permanent coma.

Rosa deduced that it had to be some kind of foreign element—one that no wizard had seen before. And when it came to Samuel Cortez, it could only mean one thing. She winced, realizing that the sunstones must be involved. She never imagined that Samuel would succeed in taming the monsters inside … but it had to be true!

A cold sweat soon coated her body. Samuel must have learned of her entry into Kane's Subconscious … possibly while she was still inside. Then, with the Ahriman's help, he injected false memories and whipped Kane's psyche into a frenzy. Rosa did not yet know the full extent of the damage, but it explained why Samuel had not retaliated with her. He had already gotten what he wanted. He only kept her alive because she served as a bargaining chip for Bram. Of course, it was only a matter of time before her usefulness ran out. And when it did, he would no doubt dispose of her.

She had barely drawn her conclusion when she heard a familiar hollow clank. It was her cell door, and someone was about to enter. Her heart sank, and she scrunched to the back of her cot, shivers creeping up her spine.

The door opened, and it was Kane! But … he should not have been there. He should not have even been able to stand! He entered the small cell with a glazed look in his eyes and his right hand clenched around the hilt of a long ceremonial knife. He closed the door behind him. Rosa panicked. This was not a freakish daydream. It was real. He had finally come to kill her!

She yelped, but he only stared back with a blank unbroken gaze. He looked different from last time. Now he was a killer. Emotionless … empty … merciless.

She held out her hands pleadingly. "Kane … please don't do this."

Her only hope was to somehow reach out to him, but her throat was as dry and coarse as sandpaper. She forcefully squeezed out her words. "Whatever you think … I never tried to hurt you!"

"Turn around," he ordered. "I'll be quick."

"No!"

She looked around for something she could use as an improvised weapon or shield, but there was nothing! Even her dinner tray was out of reach. She tried to find the right words … anything to give him pause.

"Your memories! They've been tampered with—and you can't trust them. Samuel did this to you. He did it so he could use you!"

Kane squeezed his eyes shut, his expression like that of a patient suffering from an intense migraine. The knife slid from his fingers, and both hands went to his head. He sank to his knees, looking like he was in unbearable pain.

Words eked out of his mouth. "You … must … _run!_ "

Rosa was confused. It seemed that her words had triggered something inside of him, but it also sounded like he was trying to help her.

Just as quickly, his personality shifted to something darker. "No … y _ou_ did this to me!"

The tone was hostile … threatening. Rosa would have liked to run, but Kane was blocking the door. She needed to walk past him, but she was too paralyzed to even attempt it. Here was a man in the midst of an emotional breakdown. He appeared to be writing in agony, but at any moment he could leap up and snuff the life right out of her.

She was in real trouble. Within the tiny cell, she had no hope of surviving a direct assault. She needed to make her way to the dinner tray. It was a blunt metal platter, perhaps hard enough to stun a man with a proper blow to the head. Hopefully, long enough for her to run past him.

With Kane still in his stupor, she slowly crept toward the room's corner. She spoke with a low melodic voice, like a mother coaxing an upset child into a docile state.

"I've never done anything to hurt you, Kane … you know that. Something else was with me that day inside your memories. Something evil. That thing is responsible for your troubles, not me."

Kane moaned loudly as he rocked back and forth on the floor. Whatever physical pain he endured must have been excruciating. Even so, he mumbled a response. "Something … evil?"

Rosa felt like she had made progress. Perhaps she was getting through to him!

"Yes, that's right," she coaxed. "All those things you remembered … they're just lies, meant to confuse you. You couldn't have been responsible for Bale's death. You were just a child—"

Kane bolted to his feet so fast it took Rosa by surprise. His face was twisted with rage. "Don't you dare say his name, _you_ _bitch!_ "

Rosa leapt back to the perceived safety of her cot. Though it only amounted to a few measly steps, it was as far from this unstable madman as she could manage. But she was cornered, choked with fear. Her throat and chest clenched anxiously, and it was hard to breathe … hard to speak … or even think!

"Kane … I know this is painful, but I am _not_ your enemy. Please … hear me out."

Kane sank back to the floor, this time curled into a fetal position. He no longer seemed to notice her. His face was buried in his hands as he wept silently.

Rosa hoped this was her chance. She looked over to the dinner tray, which now seemed pitifully inadequate, given how quickly the situation had escalated. She had a much better chance if she could reach his ceremonial knife, which was practically within his reach. The bright lights of the cell glinted temptingly off its golden hilt. Now was her chance. With Kane once more in his trance, she moved ever closer.

By now, Kane was weeping loudly. Tears streamed down his face as he whispered something too faint to hear. Rosa tried her best not to make any sudden movements. As long as he was oblivious in his world of emotional delusions, she would reach the knife.

Faint murmurs escaped his lips. "I should've died … I should've died …."

He kept on repeating. She bent closer. The hilt was almost in her grasp ….

Then, like lightning, Kane got up and pounced on her. She was thrown onto her back, the wind taken out of her. His hand cupped around her throat, and his fingers squeezed. She looked back, finding only a pair of eyes with pinpoint pupils.

"Now … I will finally … have my revenge!"

The voice was not Kane's, but she recognized it. It was the same as one of the Deviants from his Subconscious. But … an emotional manifestation … taking control of a subject's body? It was impossible!

Rosa struggled, but she was growing lightheaded. Her life was about to end, no matter how hard she resisted. She clawed furiously at his hand, but his grip was iron. Slowly, her vision blurred, and darkness intruded from the edges. He squeezed harder, and the room slowly faded ….

All of a sudden, the grip vanished. She did not know how, but she was able to inhale deeply. Her hands went to her throat, which was tender and sore. Her vision returned, and—blessed Gaia—she was alive!

She looked around, surprised to find Kane in a standing position, offering to help her to her feet. But she rejected the hand and shimmied in the opposite direction.

Kane's natural voice had returned. "I don't have time to explain, Rosa, but you need to get out of here. Quickly!"

Rosa scrambled to her feet, panting for breath. The room spun as fear and confusion muddled her senses. Even so, she observed this man—who had almost strangled the life right out of her—as he lifted the latch on the door and pulled. She could not believe her eyes. The exit from her prison was right in front of her! A tantalizing route to freedom and safety begged her to take flight.

"Just run, Rosa. And don't look back!"

She wanted to, but the man who had just tried to kill her was now aiding her escape. His expression was now of deep remorse, with a glower of shame and layers of sorrow and regret etched around his eyes. This was also different from the Kane she knew. This was ….

"Coping …?"

Kane hung his head as the Persona spoke through him. "I'm sorry, Rosa … but I can't hold them back. If you don't get far away from here, they'll hunt you down and destroy you."

There was no longer any doubt: Kane was not in control of his body. His psyche had shut down, and somehow—perhaps due to the Ahriman's presence—his bones and muscles continued to function. Any other man would have slipped into a coma, but Kane's body had instead become a vehicle for his personified emotions to take command.

Of course, this also made him incredibly dangerous. While parts of him clearly wanted to reach out and help Rosa, the Deviants could clearly emerge as well. Unfettered rage or violence could manifest at any moment. But at the same time, buried beneath all those negative emotions, was a man who meant well. Even though he had so frequently strayed on the wrong path, the true Kane had never meant harm. Rosa was sympathetic, probably the only reason she hesitated. Though she had long yearned to free herself from this tiny prison, compassion was holding her back.

If only there was some way to help this poor tortured soul. Sadly, without her magic, there was nothing she could do. The Ahriman was now the only thing keeping him standing. If Rosa were somehow to cleanse the demon's filth, Kane's mind would remain shattered. He would end up a vegetable, even in the best case.

Only one thing made sense. As much as she sympathized with Kane, her priority was her own survival. With great regret, she nodded to Coping and made for the door.

Almost. Right before crossing the threshold, Kane grabbed her by the arm.

"Wait," he urged. "There's something I need to tell you. Something important."

She faced him, curious about this newest crucial piece of information. "What is it?"

Kane locked his eyes on hers. He smiled, looking perfectly normal and innocent, a characteristic that for some reason troubled her greatly.

"Coping? What's wrong?"

Kane smiled casually. "Nothing. Everything's perfect … Beautiful."

It was not what Kane said that bothered Rosa, but the way he said it. The tone of voice triggered a terrible memory. Her heart lurched, and her body froze. Every instinct said to run, but her muscles were ice.

"I've been so cruel to you. Yet, you've been so kind to me."

Kane's eyes sparkled and his smile swelled. The relaxed breathing, and casual swagger … any other time, and he would have looked like a genuinely healthy and happy man. But Rosa was not fooled by the act. She knew the particular Deviant now controlling Kane's body, and she was very afraid. If she bolted quickly, perhaps she could outrun him ….

Unfortunately, the opportunity vanished, like the wisp of smoke after striking a match. He closed the distance in a single step. Before Rosa could stop him, Desire had both arms around her.

The touch was debilitating. Before she knew it, she was sobbing like a little girl. She wanted to fight, but she remembered him on top of her … forcing himself against her will. She remembered the helplessness of his strength holding her arms and his full weight pinning her to the floor.

He brought his mouth close to hers and touched her lips, whispering, "Don't cry. Everything's going to be all right."

Her skin prickled. The poisonous lips, the toxic breath … she felt sick but could not move. She desperately wanted to push him away, but—dammit—her arms and legs were blocks of cement!

"Please …" she begged.

"Come here," he coaxed, leading her toward the cot.

" _Please, no …_." She mouthed the words in between sobs, but she lacked the breath to speak.

He was already unbuckling his trousers. All she could think of was snakes … snakes in the pit of her gut ….

"Use your magic, Rosa."

She perked up at the words. Kane must have uttered them, but the Deviant controlling the body seemed not to notice. Had it been her imagination? Or was it a signal from Coping, still trying to help her? She took a step back, feeling for the anti-magic field.

"What are you doing?" Kane's brows crossed in an expression of sheer vexation. He pointed his index finger with authority. "You get back here. Right now."

The anger was unmistakable, as was the implicit threat. But Rosa had no intention of complying. The field was gone. She let the magic enter her body. It was a cold drink after a long hike in the sun. Parting clouds after a terrible storm. The warmth of a newly built fire, right after making camp on an icy mountaintop.

The Deviant's face contorted with rage. "You listen to me right now, or I'll wreck that pretty little face of yours!"

The words were on her lips in an instant. She unleashed her spell, and a great magical force blew her assailant backward, bashing his head into the opposite wall. One hit was all it took. He fell forward, face first onto the floor, and never moved another muscle.

The adrenaline drained from her body. With the threat now gone, she was left to fully comprehend just how vulnerable she had been. She had come so close to her worst nightmare. The realization came, and her knees gave out. Then came the tears.

Despite all her training in health and wellness … all the courses on domestic abuse … even her deep understanding of sexual assault! Nothing could have prepared her for facing it firsthand.

She gasped for breath, still shaken, but also grateful to be alive. Every breath she took was a gift. Her teeth chattered between sobs and her whole body shook, but—Gaia be blessed—she was all right!

Kane lay crumpled on the floor. He no longer moved, and this time, she had no sympathy left to give. He was a monster! And he rightly got what he deserved. She stopped short of finishing the job, though. It did not feel right to take the remainder of his pitiful life.

Besides, he was unlikely to ever wake again. Whatever phenomenon had caused his Deviants to take control was now gone. Her magic confirmed that his brainwaves were slowly fading. His mind was mush. From a clinical perspective, he was already dead.

For Rosa, it was now a matter of her own survival. She still had a good chance to escape, and she was done feeling sorry for herself. Sniffling up a few lingering tears, she was finally ready to head out.

Even so, as she went for the door, a curious thought occurred to her. She had survived due to her magic, which should have failed due to the anti-magic field. Four very competent wizards had been guarding her all this time. They should have been in the next room, maintaining the field. What happened to them?

Part of her wanted to taste freedom, but another part wanted answers. Fortunately, she did not need to go very far. Once she exited the cell block, she found all four wizards crumpled on the floor, dead. She turned one of them over, hoping to examine the body for cause of death. There were no obvious wounds, but then she checked the man's eyes. They were pools of blood … petechial hemorrhaging. That was usually a sign of strangulation. Her hand went absently up to her own very sore neck.

As far as she knew, Kane was the only one who had come through the area. Yet, it would have been difficult for him to simultaneously overpower and strangle four grown men without drawing some attention. Yet there was not even a sign of struggle. Rosa hoped to learn more by examining the man's mouth, and sure enough, she found her answer. Inside, the flesh had turned black. Then she remembered … the vial of poison!

Kane had once purchased such a vial in an attempted suicide. Although Rosa had been unable to identify the exact substance while inside Kane's Memories, she knew of a substance called drachordium that produced similar effects. Its street name was Dragon's Blood. It was a tasteless and odorless toxin that attacked the nervous system while simultaneously closing the airways to the lungs. That explained the hemorrhaging. It also left an ink-like residue along the mouth and throat, which matched the victims here.

But, if Kane had come to kill her, it made no sense to murder the wizards holding on to her anti-magic field. Perhaps he did not want them interfering. But if that were the case, their deaths would have only made him more vulnerable. Surely, he would have known better. Perhaps, a subconscious part of Kane had poisoned the wizards on Rosa's behalf, because he knew that he was about to harm her.

It was a sobering thought, especially given how monstrous she had come to perceive him. The Deviant, Desire, was mostly responsible for that. Of course, she would be wrong to associate the whole of a man with the worst of his emotions. Most people did not understand what Deviants actually represented. They were not part of a person's personality, like the Personas. They were more like primal impulses or temptations.

If a man saw a stranger and a lascivious thought came to mind, such was an example of the Deviant, Desire. Of course, lusting for a stranger in the privacy of one's mind was quite different from performing acts of violence in order to obtain it. Healthy men never acted on their temptations. To most people, Deviants were like fleeting thoughts: a desire for punishment against someone who wronged a person, or a moment of anger when something bad happens. All people experience these emotions.

However, for Kane, the Ahriman's influence had somehow caused a single emotion to wrest control of his entire body, thus allowing an unadulterated primal id to act completely of its own accord. It was sad, in a way, but Rosa was at least glad that Kane's tortured soul was finally put to rest.

Even so … something bothered her. It felt wrong to leave him there and let the mysteries behind his actions die with him. She remembered her promise to Coping, the Persona who was the sum of all of Kane's outward traits and characteristics. If ever there had been a way to see and know the real Kane, Coping was that form. And as much as it crushed Rosa's heart to admit it, she would not be alive if Coping had not intervened. By association, Kane had saved her … from himself.

Even so, a part of Rosa was ready to flee. She had been held captive for weeks, forced to face her anxieties in a cripplingly confined space, and nearly raped and killed by a madman. All she wanted was to free herself from Samuel's base and wipe the entire experience from her memory. And the door to freedom was literally within reach!

At the same time, she remembered the oath she had taken as a white wizard. She had once promised to heal those in need, regardless of their situation. And at the time, she had almost made a promising career out of it, too. Unfortunately, her father had talked her into accepting the role of a homemaker, a lifestyle she had come to despise. If she had learned anything from that experience, it was to follow her heart and not settle for what made sense at the time.

After all, she wondered would Isabella Clairvaux would do, the heroine from her children's tales ….

No! Rosa shook her head in shame. The thought had crossed her mind, but it was trite and immature. She had spent so much time immersed in those stories as a child, but it was not appropriate anymore to base her most important life decisions on a children's fairytale. She was embarrassed to have ever thought of it.

Besides, Isabella was famous for saving princes from their demise. They were cheerful tales for little girls to fantasize, since they involved icons of wealth and power bestowing love and riches upon their benefactor. But that was not how it worked in the real world. In Rosa's experience, life was often cruel. Healers saw people on the worst days of their lives. Many times, the injured were those with addictions, domestic abuse, or targets of gangs and rogue guilds. If healers dared not help the most vulnerable of society, then what good were they in the first place?

Rosa walked over to the man lying face forward on the floor of her prison cell. If she lacked the grace to show mercy and save a wretch like Kane, then she did not deserve to call herself a white wizard. If she ran now, she would always know that she had chosen the easier path. That choice would always be with her, tempting her to fall back to the simpler pampered lifestyle that her father desired.

Rather, if she chose courage over fear, she had an opportunity to grow as a woman. She wanted to be empowered to make her own choices—as an adult, not as a girl at the whim of opinionated men. This was not just a matter of sympathy or forgiveness. Kane had made his own choices, all of which had consequences.

Rosa wanted this for herself. She was a medical professional, intent on living up to that role—brave enough to find the answers that she so intellectually craved, and determined enough to bring peace to a sad and sordid soul.

So she knelt beside her patient and prepared the incantation to enter his Subconscious.


	28. Chapter 9, Part XII

**.**

* * *

 **Part XII**

 _Afternoon of Terminus, Fourth Day of Duskmoon_

* * *

Just before Matthias stepped through Samuel's portal, he experienced a moment of reluctance. Sweaty palms gripped his staff as he tried to overcome a sudden shortness of breath. He was about to face one of the world's most powerful rogue wizards—one who was augmented by the strength of a sunstone, no less!

Though Samuel would be loath to make use of the Ahriman's powers and expose himself to corruption, he would soon have no choice. Matthias was about to corner him, and it seemed that an encounter with one of the legendary demons was inevitable. Indeed, it would be an epic battle, and Matthias wondered for a moment if he were truly ready.

There was only way to stop Bram's wicked brother and put an end to the Ahrimen's pursuits—and that was Apocalypsis. But, by committing to this path, Matthias would be sealing his own fate. Not that he was afraid to sacrifice himself to protect the world, but … he struggled to comprehend what it meant.

After all, he had renounced his faith in the Goddess years ago, along with all beliefs in an afterlife. The day his wife Angela died, he felt he could no longer worship or revere a deity who had failed to intervene when he needed Her most.

Matthias had done his part. He had made sure everything was right. He had put every Goddess-damned effort into saving Angel's life. All of Vineta's most powerful healers were there, monitoring Angela throughout her pregnancy, seeing to her every need. Yet, it was not enough.

What more could a man have done? An ostensibly loving Goddess had taken away the one thing that meant more to Matthias than anything else in the world. There was no way a seasoned academic like him could let that slide. Matthias had been raised on faith, but he had learned at that moment that there was no Goddess to heed the call of a true believer. At least, not when it really mattered.

But now, Matthias was ready to face his final test. If he truly felt the same way, then death would be the end of him. He would not rejoin his wife and daughter, nor would they know of his sacrifice. However, he might have a chance to destroy one of the greatest scourges on the planet, along with its human puppet—and that might be a good enough reason to accept death.

Unfortunately, there was no more time for second guessing. Matthias was committed. He shrugged off his remaining hesitance and stepped through the portal ….

And into a bright but bitter cold. A stiff wind nearly knocked him over, while a blinding sunbeam stole his vision. He cursed, knowing he was vulnerable to Samuel's defenses. Without even his full bearings to guide him, Matthias cast a powerful spell of protection.

Thankfully, it was enough. His shield bore the explosive blast of a mighty barrage of fireballs, casting furious amount of heat that would have otherwise burnt him to a crisp. By the time the air cleared of ash and smoke, he saw that he was standing upon a large metal platform in the middle of a clear blue sky, tinted orange by a setting sun. Of all the blasted places, Samuel had taken him to the top of the _Zounds_ airbase, where gusts of high-altitude winds chilled him to the very core.

Samuel stood about a dozen spans away, wide-eyed and clearly angered that his victim was still standing. The Gnostic Knight wasted no time in casting another spell.

Recognizing the incantation, Matthias readied a magnetic field, just in time to deflect cascading forks of lightning. Crackling energy passed on either side. Even a moment of exposure to that current would have boiled his organs.

Next, he cast a wall of fire, successfully melting a tide of razor sharp ice shards that threatened to tear his flesh to pieces. And again, he countered with a swirling maelstrom of magical energy—a mighty torrent with enough force to rip the skin off of Samuel's bones. The Gnostic Knight swung his dark sword, cutting through and dissipating the magical storm.

So many complex and successive incantations sapped the gray wizard's strength. Without a nearby supply of manna, he was quickly depleting his energy reserve. Fortunately, it seemed that the Gnostic was faring no better. Samuel stopped his spellcasting and spoke out.

"So," he growled, "my brother abandoned you after all. Did you truly think you were strong enough to face me on your own?"

Matthias yelled over the roaring winds. "Bram didn't send me. The choice was mine."

Samuel chuckled. "Of course it was. You want vengeance for your daughter, don't you?"

"That's not why I'm here." Matthias needed this villain to know the truth. "There was a time when I wanted you dead for sanctioning the attack on Rungholt. My daughter lost her life in that senseless battle. But, now … I'm past seeking retribution. I honor Angela more by fighting the Ahrimen. That's why I came. I'm here for the sunstone, plain and simple."

Samuel bared his teeth. "Then you're wasting your time! I used to think my enemies were equipped with at least a basic amount of knowledge—if not to justify their crusade, at least to fuel their convictions! But I've come to realize that you know next to nothing!"

"So what?" Matthias challenged. "You think to dissuade me by hurting my feelings?"

Samuel sneered. "You obviously don't realize that I've been Marked by Belial. That means I can't relinquish the sunstone, even if I wanted to. Even if you took my life, it would only grant the Ahriman free reign over my body. Thus, the sunstone and I cannot part. It is both my prize and my curse, and you'll need to go through both of us to get it!"

Matthias smiled. "That suits me just fine. I'll simply destroy you both."

Samuel shook his head disgustedly. "Stupid wizard. Such bravado would only suit you if you knew what it meant to face an Ahriman like Belial. But you're only speaking out of ignorance."

Matthias practically snickered. Samuel did not know about Apocalypsis, and the irony was delicious. "Perhaps you're right … but I do know that you were hoping for a stalemate. You're moments away from losing control of your body already, and summoning the Ahriman would only accelerate your demise. However, I'm willing to give you a way out … if you cooperate, that is. You don't need to lose your life … or your soul."

"You expect me to surrender?" Hatred burned in Samuel's eyes. The wizard's words must have cut deep into the Gnostic's ego. "I'll never yield to the likes of you!"

Matthias shrugged. "I guess not. But what other choice do you have? Run away? Do you have the chops to do that, Samuel? Or perhaps you think you can act tough and play it like a game of chicken. But I promise you this: I won't give up … not until you're defeated."

"Nor will I," Samuel shot back. "I'm not the coward you take me for. My convictions are stronger than you could possibly imagine. While you think this is all about saving the world from the Ahrimen, they are but a minor piece of the puzzle. You have no idea what's truly at stake!"

Matthias frowned. "Then why don't you enlighten me?"

Samuel sneered. "The answers would be incomprehensible to you, Wizard. You're nothing but a pawn—one I will soon remove from play."

The gray wizard calmed himself with a deep breath. Samuel was trying to goad his anger, but it was only the last resort of a man who had run out of options. It was time for Matthias to cut this charade short.

"Face it, Samuel. You're trapped. Fight me, if you dare, but one way or another … I _will_ defeat you." Matthias prepared the words of a spell when he noticed Samuel's sneer morph into a smirk.

"Think again."

The Gnostic took off running. Matthias could have fired, but he did not want to waste his energy until he had his target secured. So he followed suit, sprinting down the length of the ship. He was a lot older than Samuel, but he had plenty to drive him forward.

Off to the side, he saw his wife and daughter. They were standing there together, beaming with pride. He chuckled at the fanciful hallucination. His mind was playing tricks on him, but it was actually nice to see an image of their approval as he hunted down the villain. It drove his legs even faster.

As he neared the edge of the airbase, he saw what Samuel had in mind. Right beyond the lip, another ship ascended, ready to carry the Gnostic Knight to safety.

Matthias could not afford to have the villain escape. He focused a well-placed spell, and a magical force exploded right under the ship's nose. It blew through reinforced steel, taking a sizable chunk out of the hull. Smoke billowed forth as the ship slowly lost altitude and fell beneath the cloud cover.

Samuel spun in Matthias' direction. "Fool! If a duel to the death is what you wish, then I'll take you to the Burning Pits myself!"

Samuel raised his hands and spoke words of ancient Arcane magic. He was not pulling any punches, but fortunately Matthias was prepared. This was the moment he had been waiting for. He would wear Samuel down until both wizards expended the last of their manna. If Samuel fell first, Matthias would take his captive to receive justice. Otherwise, he would use Apocalypsis.

His strength was bolstered by the vision of his family. Both Angelas stood there, hand in hand—mother and daughter, reunited at last. They cheered him on, for they knew that he fought for the right reasons. Their love rained upon him, and it was bliss.

Matthias readied the words of his next spell, ready to make them proud.


	29. Chapter 9, Part XIII

**.**

* * *

 **Part XIII**

 _Evening of Terminus, Fourth Day of Duskmoon_

* * *

Rosa's second trip to the world of Kane's Subconscious was already a very different experience. No longer did it appear as an infinite white plane against an equally blank backdrop; now, a thick gray fog smothered the view. There were no detectable objects inside the gloomy impenetrable haze—no Personas, Deviants, nor distant camps. If anything remained in this rapidly fading world, it was beyond Rosa's magical ability to sense.

This was not too surprising. She had already surmised that Kane's psyche had buckled under the pressure of so many mental manipulations. Meeting Samuel Cortez might have once saved Kane from an attempted suicide, but it certainly had not helped him to avoid the inevitable spiral of destruction.

A part of Rosa despised Kane for all the violence and harm he had caused, but another part of her sympathized with him, too. Somewhere hidden within these remnants of his mind was a young man who had once stood for honor and hope. Subsequent choices had led this boy down the wrong path, starting with his decision to spite his best friend and join the Order of Templars, and his eventual tailspin into madness.

Kane could have resisted. Over the course of his trials, he could have altered course, rejected Samuel's offer, and joined with Bram to spare the Conjurions. But instead, he chose to be an accomplice to genocide, putting him alongside some of the most reprehensible villains in history.

Then again, Kane's decision had been heavily influenced by the powerful hold that Samuel had over him. The Gnostic had delved into Kane's Memories and discovered his most personal secrets. He offered to hold back the public maiming and execution by the Templar forces, which had been Kane's punishment for betraying their leader at Dobb's Plain. Samuel then promised Kane a renewed relationship with Bram, which in his mind would have allowed him to become the leader and mentor he had always wanted to be.

Samuel had offered the perfect carrot to garner Kane's trust. It was easy for Rosa to see how desperate a person might become, when their only choice boiled down to a gruesome and humiliating death on one hand and a dream from the depths of their heart on the other. Such a person might be willing to do almost anything.

It seemed clear that Kane deserved some level of blame, but how much was not as obvious. He was not in a healthy mental state when Samuel found him, so his judgment was impaired from the very beginning. And had he not capitulated, he would have never survived the trials that followed.

In the end, Kane agreed to Samuel's demands, and by the time he returned from Ur, his loyalties were effectively secured. Not even an ounce of remaining emotional wherewithal remained for him to object to Samuel's subsequent commands. He became a willing slave, trapped in a relationship that he did not want and could not break. And yet, he still made one final grasp for independence.

When he visited Rosa in her prison cell, he had brought a photograph of him and Bram as children. He likely did not fully comprehend what he was doing. The motivation had come from deep within his Subconscious, and it represented something significant: the photograph was a moment in time when Kane was a child—pure and innocent—a period when he had nothing but the best intentions, hopes, and dreams. In a sense, the photograph was a symbol of his yearning to start over.

Somewhere deep inside, Kane must have felt the need to communicate his desire to Rosa. Perhaps it was his way of reaching out for help. Unfortunately, Rosa had not been in a position to grant it. And of course, Samuel had found out that she had visited his Memories, and he used his Ahriman's magic to force his slave back into submission. And the resulting emotional trauma was so great that Kane's psyche finally broke under the immense pressure.

Rosa sighed as she pressed on through the fog. She had no love for Kane, but she could not help but empathize with his situation. Now was her chance to find answers, and hopefully bring peace and closure to all the harm he had caused. Not just for her, but for Bram, too. And for all the people whom Kane had hurt along the way. But she had to do it quickly. Kane was dying, and when his last breath left his body, no magic on Gaia would be enough to recall his lost memories.

So Rosa wandered into his Subconscious. Now, as part of the process of death, the white entry world and the Memories were merging together. Rosa expected to see parts of Kane's past appear before her, right before disappearing forever. It was the brain's last gasp for life, and Rosa needed to act fast if she wanted to capture the right moments.

"Coping!" She decided it was worth calling out to the Persona who had done so much to help her. Besides, she was getting nowhere wandering on her own. "Coping, please answer!"

But there was nothing.

She raced through the fog, hoping to find at least a trace of something useful.

"Coping …."

Her shouts trailed off as a silhouette appeared in the distance. She readied a spell, just in case it was a Deviant. She approached cautiously. As the figure came into view, she realized he was not alone.

One figure, an exact duplicate of Kane dressed in dirty and tattered clothes, hung on a cross of wooden planks. His head hung low, and he looked sullen and miserable. However, a second figure stood opposite him, dressed in a black jerkin and dark trousers. Of course, the most distinctive and frightening aspect of this figure was the blur where his face should have been. It was almost like a smudge of ink, or a photograph that was badly out of focus.

"Coping …?" She somehow knew that the sullen-looking one had to be the Persona she sought. But if this were her manifested friend, he did not acknowledge her. Instead, he kept his head low, seemingly oblivious.

Meanwhile, the other figure spoke. Its voice was garbled and indistinct, just like its face. "You're trash. Everything you've ever done has resulted in failure."

Rosa noted a reaction from Coping. His shoulders slumped, and his head slid even lower. He seemed to take the words to heart, clearly feeling immense pain. Unabated, the blurry-faced Kane continued.

"You vowed to protect your country, but instead you betrayed its most venerated general. You vowed to lead, but instead you became a slave. You vowed to save lives, but instead you sowed death and destruction. You're trash. You've always been unwanted—a piece of garbage—ever since the day you were born."

Coping began to sob, and Rosa thought she knew what was going on. She suspected the blurry-faced Kane was the Deviant known as Despair—the one she feared from the very beginning. It seemed intent on demeaning its counterpart, who represented all that remained of Kane's self. Rosa believed she needed Coping's help to find her answers, so she decided to intervene.

"That's not true." She directed her argument to Coping, since she knew better than to engage with Despair. "No child is trash. People make mistakes, and they need to live and learn by them. But they are not born unwanted."

The blurry-faced Deviant turned to her. "What would you know? You despise This One more than anyone. Even His best friend has turned against Him. Is that not true?"

Rosa's lips tightened. How could she deny it? It was time to change tactics. "Every choice has its consequences, and sometimes they can tear friends apart. But there's always room for understanding. If there are good reasons behind bad actions, then we deserve to know why. Answers bring comfort … and closure."

Despair crossed its arms. "You see? Even this girl cannot defend what you've done. It's time for this world to fade away. There is no reason to exist."

"Rubbish!" Rosa walked in front of Coping, leaning forward so he would see her. She was careful to speak in the abstract and not refer to Kane directly.

"It's true that there is anger for what has been done, but that doesn't mean there isn't also room for understanding … or possibly forgiveness. Besides, it's clear that there's remorse as well, or else Despair's words would mean nothing. That means understanding the difference between right and wrong. I believe there's goodness still inside."

Unfortunately, the Persona did not answer. He just stared at the ground in silence. She reached out to him, lifting his head so he would look her in the eyes.

"Coping, please … you could have given up many times before, but you did not. You kept your fortress running strong, believing that things would eventually get better. Even when everything else looked bleak, you pressed onward. You must find that hope again. Don't give up now."

"Silence, Girl!" the Deviant hollered. "There is no forgiving This One, not even from you. You speak out of selfishness, not from love or compassion. You would use This One as a tool, just as His previous Master had done. For there is nothing good to come from what This One can offer."

Rosa ground her teeth in frustration. Part of what Despair said was true, but it was also just empty emotions with a one-track mind for talking nonsense! Despair would stop at nothing to snuff out Kane's will to live, and Rosa would have no hope of arguing directly against it. All she could do was focus on Coping. So she grasped his head in both her hands and spoke from her heart.

"I know mistakes were made. And I can't claim that forgiveness will be forthcoming. But I do know that reasons matter, and I want to help you to find the answers. So please … don't let this world disappear for nothing. Help me, so that I might give this world at least a small amount of dignity before it's all gone."

Coping's eyes began to focus. They locked on to hers as a tear drifted slowly down his cheek. "Rosa … I don't know what to say …."

His words were interrupted by a high-pitched squeal of frustration from Despair. All of a sudden, the fog rushed in and swept the Persona away. Rosa looked around to find that she was all alone. Cold air brushed across her face. She turned away to huddle for warmth.

When she opened her eyes, she saw a green mossy floor at her feet. Nearby, a stream of water rushed past. She was amazed by how real it looked. Then … an explosion!

She took cover, only to find herself at the precipice of a hill. At the bottom, families of tribesmen ran for cover as their village burned all around them. The scene was horrifying. So much senseless death, the tears of loved ones evaporating before they ever hit the ground. It was the Conjurion Village, and the scene was clearer and more realistic than any she had previously experienced in Kane's Memories.

A shadow approached from behind, and she almost jumped. But she quickly recognized the man in Gnostic armor, whose eyes were wide and transfixed at massive objects in the sky. High overhead, creatures the size of buildings flew through the air, casting spells of fire, ice, and lightning. But these were less important to Rosa than the man standing only a few spans away.

Bram … she wanted to reach out and embrace him. Memory or not, just feeling him in her arms would grant her such solace and delight. It had been so long. But the notion quickly vanished when she noted the anger in his eyes. It was pure unadulterated fury like she had never seen before.

"You son of a bitch," he roared, spraying equal amounts of spittle and words. "You knew all along, didn't you? This was never about killing a village chief, but of destroying the entire village—wasn't it!"

Rosa was crushed. She realized the words had been meant for Kane, but now she stood in his place—the target of Bram's rage. She took a few steps back, deeply hurt by all the hatred coming from the man she loved.

Bram stepped forward, closing the distance, his eyes crazed and bloodshot. "This is what the King of Angkor does with his new-found power? Find villages filled with innocents to use in a trust exercise?"

Rosa badly wanted to escape this nightmare. Perhaps it was all the recent trauma—the harrowing trials that drained her emotional stamina—because now she found it too difficult to stay calm in front of this memory. This man … who looked like the one she loved … appeared on the verge of wanting to kill her. She wanted to say something—anything—just to make this cruel manifestation calm down.

"No, Bram, it's not what you think!"

The knight bared his teeth. "Why I should listen to your _lies_ any longer? Who do you serve?"

Rosa shook her head. It was far too real, and she had far too much of an emotional attachment. For a moment, she wondered if Kane had felt this way, too. Kane had been in her shoes, witnessing his best friend's rage. It must have been terribly difficult for him. She took a few more steps back, and her heel nearly skidded off the edge of the precipice. All she could think to do was to remind herself of the truth.

"No … this isn't real."

"Lies!" her beloved screamed, his face red with anger. "Everything you've said so far is a _lie!_ " He drew his blade, which pulsed with a dark purple halo. The poisoned end of a Gnostic's sword—her lover's sword—would kill her with a mere scratch. And it was pointed straight at her. She lost her strength, and her knees buckled.

It was just too much. She had survived on her own for weeks, partly because she kept the thought of being reunited with Bram always in the back of her mind. She endured so much pain and abuse, but maintained hope that she would be back in her lover's arms. She trusted that he would find her and save her before it was too late. But he never came.

Yet, here he stood—or at least, a too real image of him did. And it was poised to deliver a fatal blow that in the real world would have her writhing in agony until death claimed her. Just the mere thought made her want to weep. She buried her head in her hands and cried.

Only for a moment, though. She was quickly jarred back to alertness when a hand grabbed her by the head and drove her face into a pool of water. She squirmed, flailing wildly, desperate for air, confused about what was actually happening! Her lungs begged for relief, but she dared not drown herself by opening her mouth. But as much as she fought, the hand held her tightly, and her arms and legs were fastened by some kind of restraint.

She was almost ready to burst when the hand pulled back, dragging her head out of the water. She gulped as much air as she could, choking on whatever dribble fell into her throat.

"I will ask you one more time," a voice stated with a thick Koban accent. "Tell me which tent belongs to the Templar Grandmaster."

Rosa looked around to get her bearings. She was in a dark room, lit by torches, surrounded by Koban military. In front of her, the man who had spoken was pointing to a large cloth stretched across the far wall. Illustrated on the cloth were various dark rectangles, presumably a map of the Templar encampment.

"Well?" the man screeched. "We have given you plenty of time to study our map. Failure to answer promptly will earn you another dunk in the tank."

Rosa saw the trough of water in front of her, presumably where her head would end up if she failed to answer the question in a timely manner. These men were torturing her for information—or more accurately, she was in Kane's place on the day he betrayed the Templar Grandmaster.

Rosa was reminded that certain traumas within the Subconscious could trigger real consequences to her real-world body. If she drowned, it would likely result in a heart attack. Her life was in danger!

She had to think quickly, but with her hands tied, her spellcasting was limited. She had to stall.

"I—I—I will tell you," she stammered, trying to fill the void of silence. "But I need more time to study the map!"

"Stalling will not help you, Mister Harding," the Koban man announced. He raised his hand, which apparently signaled for the man behind her to commence torturing. Rosa tried to resist, but the hand grabbed her head and drove it forward.

Her body writhed in fear. She had been given no advanced warning to take a deep breath. Whatever air was in her lungs, it was not enough! Fearful of drowning, and with the elevated heart rate from her previous encounter, her body was in full panic. She squirmed and fought with all her might, but to no avail. She was on the verge of gagging, which would be the end of her. In a short time, her bodily reflexes would be stronger than her own willpower, and she would be done for!

But, joyously, the hand pulled back. She had thought it was all over, but—Gaia be blessed—she was still alive. Her lungs ached as she drew in the deepest of breaths. The relief was exquisite, but the onset of dread came just as quickly. Now was the time to act, because next time she might not be so lucky.

So she whispered the first spell that came to mind. A magical force cut through the trough, emptying the water onto the ground. At once, the scene flickered as Kane's memory failed to reconcile what had just happened with the record of what had actually happened. In moments, the restraints around Rosa's arms and legs vanished, and she was able to stand. By the time she was on her feet, she was back in a foggy, gray, empty oblivion.

She took a few deep breaths. The previous scene was gone, but her head and chest were still soaking wet. She spoke a few words of magic, and the water quickly evaporated. Poor Kane had no chance of resisting that kind of torture. He was doomed the moment he had been captured.

As for Rosa, she had to be more mindful of unexpected dangers in this unique psyche. She recited a few more spells in her head, ready for the next time something surprised her.

She did not need to wait long. Out in the distance, hidden by the fog, came a monstrous growl. Its low-pitched guttural undertones rippled through her body. Her prepared spell propelled her high into the air just as a black tentacle wriggled through the fog to grab her. Or at least, that was the best way to describe it. The appendage had no depth or texture. It was just a solid black shape that raced through the air at blinding speeds.

She narrowly dodged the attack, but now, her only manner of escape was to maneuver through the air, evading more black tentacles as they appeared from the nothingness. She wished she had spent more time mastering the art of flying when she was a student, but for now she would have to improvise. She used a number of well-placed and well-timed magical forces that kept her ping-ponging through the air.

Somewhere within the fog, something mammoth tromped through the world of Kane's Subconscious. It was the source of the tentacles, and each step sent loud reverberations across the barren landscape. And besides the dangerous black appendages that looked like they could slice through steel, there was also a palpable feeling of hatred and malice that permeated the air. There was no doubt that this was the Ahriman—or at least, some kind of manifestation that took on a shadow-form in order to exist within Kane's mind.

But if it were a shadow, then perhaps Rosa could defeat it. She thought back to a spell she had once learned, a powerful incantation for banishing evil spirits known as wraiths. These rare occurrences were manifestations of negative energy, usually the result of powerful wizards who destroyed their bodies with their own unethical experiments.

Somehow, the magic animated a semi-sentient shadow-form that resembled the former wizard. In order to destroy these wraiths, wizards developed a spell that produced an immense concentration of warmth and light. It was not too hot to scorch, but it was bright enough to destroy any shadow within the spell's radius. The name of that spell was Holy, and Rosa hoped it would work in this case, too.

The only problem was that she had learned the incantation a long time ago, and it was a fairly complex spell. As Rosa hurdled through the air, she tried to remember the mnemonic that she had created when she was still a wizarding student. She had to think about it in between mumbling the words to her force spell, so she could continue evading the black tentacles. As she hurdled through the air, she went over the words of the mnemonic in her head.

"And willing the swallow did follow and blow …."

She swerved, narrowly dodging a couple of tentacles that dove in her direction.

"The tallow from candle did tumble and flow …."

Quickly, she changed direction, soaring high above the quasi-material ground of Kane's Subconscious.

"Determined to serve and Delilah forego …."

She saw a gathering of tentacles right above her. She cast a small shield to block them, and then she was in freefall.

Just a few more words to the spell. She concentrated on the last bit. "All merit to swear it for no one to know."

Yes … it was working … she remembered!

In her excitement, she misspoke the last syllable of her force spell, which knocked her in the wrong direction. Another black tentacle came straight at her. She turned her body in midflight, but it was not enough.

The tentacle grazed her shoulder, ripping through skin and muscle, sending jolts of pain throughout her body. She stifled a scream to focus on the words to another spell that brought her safely to solid ground. The wound oozed, but given the limitation of white magic, she would not be able to heal herself. So she summoned a white cloth and spoke a few words to tie it around the wound as a tourniquet.

The pain was sharp, but luckily it did not appear to be infected with any kind of dark magic. She cast a barrier of protection in time to deflect another round of black tentacles. She gritted her teeth against the pain, speaking the words of a wind spell to clear the area of fog so that she could see in front of her.

A stiff breeze blew away the mist, revealing a nightmarish creature. It was the size of a house, and just like the tentacles, it was made of shadow-substance and lacked any kind of material structure or texture. In terms of shape, it vaguely resembled a tiger or puma, except for the numerous tentacles protruding from its back and sides. Rosa felt its malice and hate. These emotions seemed to spring forth the moment she laid eyes on it. When it saw her, it reared on its haunches, ready to charge.

Rosa had one chance. She readied the words to Holy and swallowed her fear so that she could speak the incantation properly. A tide of magical energy coursed through her body, growing with each word. She had only cast the spell once, long ago, in a remote region of the Saladina Desert. She had been there with her favorite teacher, the great Jean Vieillechaise. It was a controlled environment, since oftentimes, students practicing the spell would accidentally blind their peers with a pure white radiance strong enough to shine through walls of solid steel.

Rosa finished the last few words as the massive body of the Ahriman hurdled toward her. She set the origin point to burst forth right from the creature's center. The Ahriman was in mid-leap when the magic took effect, causing the creature to stumble and fall.

Rosa cast another quick spell to move her body out of its path of destruction. A blood-curdling howl escaped its lips, followed by a spire of pure white light. Then another spire protruded from the creature's side, tunneling straight through the shadowy flesh—followed by three more.

Rosa turned away, realizing that at any moment there would be hundreds if not thousands of such spires. So she sealed her eyes shut and hid them in her hands. Even so, the effects of the spell shined through, and she saw the outlines of her own ocular veins.

When the spell finally wore off, she opened her eyes to a purple-infused afterimage. She blinked a few times, hoping the effect would soon wear off. The dim gray fog slowly returned, and with it, remnants of shadow that fluttered through the air like tattered pieces of confetti. Off in the distance, a dim halo remained where the Ahriman had once stood.

Rosa let out a deep breath, albeit hesitantly. Her hand went to her shoulder, which throbbed with a dull pain. She could only hope the danger was truly over. However, her magical senses detected something creeping up behind her. She spun around quickly, only to find a young boy with blonde hair and deep brown eyes. He looked like the version of Kane from the photograph, though perhaps even a bit younger.

"You did it," he praised. "Thank you, Rosa. We can finally fade away in peace."

Rosa's heart ached to hear these words from the mouth of a child. But there was something familiar about the way the boy phrased his words. They sounded so much like the Persona she knew.

"Coping …?"

The boy nodded. "We're at the end. There's no salvation. Not for us. Not anymore. But at least we won't disappear knowing that monster was still here."

Rosa clutched her chest. After all that she had just experienced—seeing Kane's worst experiences through his own eyes, knowing how much it pained him to see Bram turn against him, experiencing the horrendous torture that resulted in his confession to the Koban military—after all that, Rosa was not ready to leave. Kane's past had been littered with bad choices, but he had also been the victim of incredible circumstances. Rosa's heart was not at peace with letting his life fade away without a real sense of closure. The mere notion almost brought her to the verge of tears.

"It can't be over yet. There are still so many unanswered questions."

The boy reached out and took her by the hand. "Perhaps, but you've already done more for us than you know. We now know the truth about our past. Do you want to see?"

Rosa did not understand what Coping meant, but if there was something he wanted to show her, then she very much wanted to see it. She nodded enthusiastically. "Yes. Please."

Coping led her by the hand into the fog. After a few steps, the outline of a building emerged. It was an old dilapidated house under a towering oak. Rosa's body stiffened as she remembered the harrowing scene that had once transpired there.

Coping pulled her forward. "It's alright," he assured. "Don't be afraid."

Rosa found something oddly trustworthy about the young boy, so she followed him into the house and up the back stairwell. Once inside, the air was heavy, and once again the grainy artifacts and distorted images of a repressed memory returned. As before, voices came from the top of the stairs. She took each step deliberately, remembering the fiercely violent woman who had laid fists upon her own toddler son.

At the top of the stairs, she heard a splash of water. She opened the door and entered the scene unable to breathe. Off to the side, toddler Kane played with his blocks, while his mother fawned over his baby brother. Bale giggled as Kane's mother showered him with affection. Rosa cringed, knowing how the scene had once played out.

"Looks like I had better get another towel," she announced while placing an index finger on the child's nose. The endearing little boy tittered gleefully.

Then, glaring at her other son, she took on a much sterner tone. "Kane … Kane! Come over here. Now! Watch over your brother Bale while I'm gone. And don't take your eyes off him!"

It was excruciating for Rosa to hear those words a second time. All her triggers were being pressed, and she so badly wanted to turn away and run down the stairs. But when she took her eyes off of Kane's mother, they fell onto her silent companion—the young Coping—whose expression pleaded with her to keep watching. So, against her better judgment, she forced herself to stay and watch.

Kane's mother walked right by her on her way to get the extra towel. Rosa cringed, wanting to be as far away from this woman as possible. As the mother passed, Rosa felt a subtle breeze brush against her face, which surprised her. Somehow, the merging of the Memories and Subconscious were subject to a different set of rules. The actors within the memory were more than mere visions. They had substance. And although Rosa no longer had access to the Time Tunnel, somehow Coping was able to control the Memories. Perhaps it was because of his attachment to the Subconscious world.

Rosa watched more of the scene unfold. She held her breath when young Kane rose up from his blocks and headed toward the tub. Her thumbnail somehow ended up in her mouth, a sign that her nerves had reached an apex and she could no longer control her tics. She was about to witness fratricide, and the very thought chilled her core. Coping squeezed her hand, signaling that she needed to pay attention. So she kept her eyes glued, even though she so badly wanted to tear them away.

As she watched, she started to realize that something was different. She had remembered young Kane placing his hands upon his brother's shoulders, slowly forcing him down the side of the tub. But this time, young Kane merely watched his brother fondly. Rosa was jarred when the toddler Kane finally spoke.

"I wish Mom would let us play together, Bale. I think she loves you more because Daddy left … and it was my fault. But I'll never leave you. I'll stay here and protect you. Always."

Rosa was stunned. Kane did not resent or blame his brother at all. In fact, he must have been quite fond of him.

After gazing at his baby brother a bit longer, young Kane returned to his blocks. Only moments later, the infant Bale slid down the side of the bathtub, all by himself. It was clear that Kane had never murdered his brother. The vision had been a lie concocted by the Ahriman to leave Kane vulnerable and make him easier to control.

When Kane's mother returned, she was of course devastated. However, she was far too consumed with grief to blame or abuse her other son. Kane merely played with his blocks, while his mother coddled the dead infant.

It was clear that Kane's mother had a special place in her heart for Bale, while directing unnecessary abuse at Kane. Young Kane seemed to think it had to do with his father, who had left the family when Kane was still a child. Rosa knew next to nothing of the Harding family, but if there was a connection between Kane's father and his mother's cruelty, then she needed to find out more.

Of course, another thought had also crossed her mind. Young Kane mentioned something about wanting to protect his baby brother, and that got Rosa thinking. If the trauma of Bale's death remained with Kane as he grew older, it explained his unnatural relationship with Bram. In a sense, Bram was like the little brother that Kane never had. Bram was a boy for Kane to protect, a way of making amends for failing Bale. And as Bram grew and matured later in life, Kane took it personally, because Bram had essentially robbed him of his role as protector.

It was a good working hypothesis, but Rosa needed to learn more. Unfortunately, the Memories and the Subconscious were merging, and she no longer had access to the Time Tunnel. However, Coping had taken her to the memory of Bale's death. He clearly had certain abilities that Rosa lacked, and although he had reverted to the likeness of a child, Rosa still needed his strength in order to find the right answers.

Coping looked up at her. "That's what I wanted to show you. We are pleased with the truth, Rosa. Now, we can finally rest in peace."

"No, not yet," Rosa insisted. "There are too many unanswered questions. We need to know more."

Coping stared at the ground, where wisps of fog now began to obscure even the surface of the floor itself. "I'm sorry, but there is no more. We don't remember anything else of significance."

Rosa figured that the most meaningful memories might have been repressed along with Kane's other traumas. But there were ways of delving deeper. Rosa had successfully used Anchor Points when she had last visited the Memories. Perhaps what had worked well for her might also work for Coping. She just needed to get the Persona to trust her.

"Coping, we can't give up. I can help you to remember."

The young boy shook his head. "You've already done so much. Please … let this world fade away knowing that we were able to find peace."

"No!" Rosa was way too invested at this point. "That's not enough. It can't be! I believe in this world. I didn't always give it credit, but now I believe there is goodness deep inside. I'm convinced there was a time when this world was loved and brought up with honor and respect. And I intend to prove it. Please, give me an opportunity to show this to you!"

The boy looked genuinely grateful, but still unsure. "I don't understand. This world has always been despised. We're trash. How would you expect to prove otherwise?"

Rosa took the boy by his shoulders and hugged him. "Don't you ever listen to what Despair told you! He's wrong, and I'll prove it. Trust in me."

Young Coping nodded slowly. "What do you want me to do?"

Rosa smiled. "First, I want to know more about the father. What can you tell me?"

Coping's lips puckered and his nose scrunched, making a face that looked terribly sad and depressing. "Father left a long time ago. We don't remember much, but he was good to us. He had rules, but he never tried to hurt us when we broke them."

Rosa had an idea. Coping might not consciously remember Kane's father, but it was possible that there were remnants of memories that still existed. And Rosa had a good idea where she might find them.

"Try to visualize the home you grew up in. Take me as far back as you can remember."

A cold breeze blew away the fog in front of Rosa to reveal a long dark hallway. She and Coping stepped into it, and she soon recognized it as belonging to the lower level of Kane's house. It was adjacent to the foyer, and it was clear based on the home's condition that it predated the time when it had fallen into disrepair.

Of course, the place was empty. This was because Coping was not remembering a specific instance, but rather a general imprint formed by an accumulation of memories, acquired over hundreds of times traversing this same hallway. The air felt still, as if time had stopped, but no one could tell, since nothing was in motion.

Rosa peered into each of the adjacent rooms, looking for clear imprints that she could use as Anchor Points for Coping. She led the young boy through the house by his tiny hand. Eventually, she found what she was looking for.

"Coping, could you please tell me who's in this painting?"

She pointed to a picture that hung above a bureau in what appeared to be a study. Quite likely, it was his father's study, and with any hope, it was a family portrait. Coping approached the painting and squinted at it. Ignoring the pain in her shoulder, Rosa took the young boy into her arms and helped him to get a better look.

The Persona began by pointing to a woman who sat in a plain-looking chair. "That's Mother." Beside her, a man was seated in an adjacent chair, balancing an infant on his lap. The woman rested her hand on the man's shoulder. "And that's Father."

Rosa was overjoyed. Coping had not been able to remember Kane's father unaided, but in the right context, he was able to recall what the man looked like. And after studying the painting a bit longer, Rosa hoped to use the image as an Anchor Point.

"Coping, I want you to focus on Father's face. See if you can remember anything else about him." Coping scrunched his eyes in concentration, and Rosa thought of another good idea. "Think back. I want you to take us to a moment when Father was here. Think about a time when the rules were broken, but he was not angry."

Rosa felt a shift in the house. The study looked no different than before, but the scene itself looked grainier. It seemed that Coping had taken her further back in time, to a period where there were gaps in Kane's memory. The graininess was an artifact of that distortion.

Outside the study, she heard a series of footsteps signaled by a creaking floorboard. With Coping in her arms, she went to investigate.

Creeping slowly down the corridor was a very young Kane. He could not have been more than two years old. And as soon as Rosa noticed him, she also realized that Coping had regressed further backward in age. He seemed to be matching the Kane from the memories.

"Father told me to stay in my room after dark," Coping explained. "I wasn't supposed to be out, but I heard voices."

Indeed, Rosa detected a faint conversation between two people, but the murmurs were too faint to make out any words. A groggy and half-asleep Kane stumbled through the hall toward the kitchen. But as he moved forward, the voices clarified. Rosa looked ahead to the kitchen, where a man and woman suddenly appeared out of thin air.

The room itself was quite clean and had the appearance of a wealthy residence. The man was Kane's father, and he was dressed in a business suit, as if he had recently walked out of a bank or government office. However, Rosa did not recognize the woman. She was a pretty girl, young, with long golden hair tied back in a thick braid. Both she and Kane's father appeared to be enjoying a humorous conversation. They giggled and smiled in between sentences.

As the tiny and restless Kane approached, fingers rubbing his eyes, the two adults stopped their conversation in mid-sentence.

"Oh, boy," Kane's father muttered. "Looks like we woke him up."

The woman was intrigued. "You didn't tell me you had children," she noted with a hint of concern.

The father offered a repentant grunt, but quickly passed it off. "Yes, well … Leah, I'd like you to meet Kane, my son. Now that he's learned to walk, I find him wandering off all the time."

If there was any tension before, it quickly melted. In fact, Leah looked enchanted. "He looks just like you." She smiled widely and giggled. "Are you sure we won't be visited next by the boy's mother?"

Kane's father laughed. "Hardly. I already told you that she's off visiting her mother in Sakor. She won't be back until tomorrow at the earliest."

Leah looked relieved. "It's just this one, right?"

Kane's father rolled his eyes. "Yes, I'm not hiding a litter of children from you, dear."

Leah wriggled her nose. "Alright. Can I see him, at least?"

Kane's father smiled widely as he picked up young Kane in his arms. "Sure."

He brought Kane close to Leah, who examined him closely. She then used her thumb and forefinger to give his nose a small tug. "He's absolutely darling!"

Kane's father set his eyes on the girl, and the lust was unmistakable. Rosa felt her heart sink. It was only a matter of time before he set his son down and delivered a long and passionate kiss.

Rosa was disgusted that a man would think it appropriate to expose his son to his affair! He must have figured Kane was too young to understand, but still … such brazen disrespect for what was proper … it was a disgrace!

However, Rosa's instincts told her she was only scratching the surface. To be sure, she needed to find out more about the affair, including the aftermath and how it affected Kane and his mother. That meant she needed more from Coping.

"Coping … about this girl, Leah? How does she make you feel?"

The child shuddered, as if being reminded of a terrible memory.

"She caused a lot of pain, didn't she?" Rosa did not want to lead the witness, but she felt that a bit of prompting might help the little Persona to remember something new.

Coping nodded slowly.

"Okay," Rosa urged, speaking gently. "I want you to think back. Take your time. Take me to the place you had in mind."

Coping stared out into space, and once again Rosa felt the room shift. The lighting changed … dimmer … darker. More voices emerged, growing ever louder. Before she knew it, she was in the middle of a highly escalated argument. Raging mother and father confronted each other from across the room. On one side, Kane's father stood in front of his mistress, protecting her from what appeared to be a vicious verbal attack. Meanwhile, Kane's mother stood opposite, hurling what Rosa assumed to be a string of raging expletives.

Of course, the actual words were muffled and indecipherable. After all, they had come from what Kane remembered, and he had merely been an unnoticed presence standing at the bedroom doorway. He would not have recalled the precise words of such a toxic and relentless argument, but it was clear that the affair had finally reached its tipping point. Kane's mother had caught her husband and his mistress in flagrante, and she was letting her pain be known.

Of course, there was one thing that Rosa found most surprising. As the target of such a verbal attack, Rosa expected Leah to be mortified. But instead, her eyes were dark and threatening—the kind that promised vengeance.

Without warning, Kane's mother ceased her assault. Her eyes had locked onto something in Rosa's direction. For a moment, Rosa thought the mother had somehow noticed her. But then she realized that Kane's mother had actually caught sight of her son.

Rosa's body stiffened as she wondered what this woman would dare do next. Surely, she would not attempt to punish her toddler son for what his father had clearly done. Rosa held her breath as the mother quickly shuffled across the room and down the hall, straight for young Kane. If Rosa could have intervened, she would have blocked the woman's path. But all she could do was watch passively.

"Come here, baby. Come to Momma."

Rosa blinked a few times in disbelief. Kane's mother very gently took Kane into her arms and left the household. And as soon as she was gone, Kane's father and mistress disappeared.

Rosa took the time to breathe, thinking that she had just pinpointed a crucial time in Kane's past when his mother was not an abusive monster. Somehow, between that moment and the death of Kane's little brother, all that had changed. Rosa assumed Kane's mother must have been pregnant with Bale at the time, since relations with the father were unlikely to improve. Also, the pregnancy must have been early, since it did not show. Given that Bale was roughly one year old when he drowned in the bathtub, there must have been about a year and a half time span in between.

A lot could have happened in those eighteen months. Kane's father had apparently left the family, and Rosa presumed he took his wealthy income along with him. The financial burden must have been terrible on Kane's mother, but still … that did not seem to be enough of a reason to turn to abusing the child. Rosa had to keep searching. There was only one other constant in the equation.

"Coping … was there ever another time that Leah was seen in this home?"

The boy in Rosa's arms nodded slowly.

"Could you take me there, Coping? I promise … it will all be over soon."

Rosa hoped she could keep that promise. Based on the darkness around the edges of the scene, she knew she was running out of time. Kane would soon be dead.

When the room shifted, she noticed a young Kane once again wandering through the house. This time, he had a blanket in one arm and was sucking the thumb of his free hand. It was almost endearing. Despite the horrors he will have committed as an adult, Rosa started to find herself growing fond of the young Kane. The toddler version was delicate and untarnished, and Rosa found it hard to hold onto any previous resentment. She wanted to help this poor soul now more than ever.

So she followed the child, wondering where he might lead her. He wandered over to the steep stairwell, climbing one step at a time, using both hands to pull himself up. Rosa knew he would lead her to the upstairs loft—the infamous room that would one day be the location where Kane's little brother would die. She shivered as she once again climbed the very same steps.

When Rosa reached the top, she saw that the décor of the room now served as a bedroom. She looked over to the bed in the corner, and the hairs stood up on the back of her neck.

Kane's mother appeared to be asleep, but hovering over her was none other than Leah! Rosa dashed over to get a closer look. At first she wondered if the father's mistress was attacking Kane's mother, but she realized that was not the case. Leah had no weapons, only a set of fingertips, which she held to the mother's temples. Rosa's heart caught in her throat. The way Leah mumbled under her breath … she was casting a spell to enter into the Subconscious!

Rosa gasped. How could she not have thought of it earlier …?

"Oh!" Leah uttered the remark when she caught sight of young Kane. "It's you."

The girl's expression darkened, and her lips slowly curled into a devious smirk. "You always seem to sneak up at the right moment—don't you, you little brat?"

Rosa angered at Leah's response. Her arms were still wrapped around young Coping, but her hands clenched into fists.

"I have an idea," Leah continued. "Let's have a little fun with Mommy. She tried to humiliate me, but wait till you see what kind of fool I make out of her!"

Rosa held Coping close to her chest. She wanted to weep. It seemed that Leah had training in the White Arts, and she was using her magic to purposefully antagonize the Deviants inside of Kane's mother. Kane had always assumed that his mother was deranged. But in fact, she had incurred the wrath of a jilted sorceress.

The rest all made perfect sense. Kane's mother should have been diagnosed and healed by another trained wizard, but somehow—tragically—she never received treatment. Kane's father then left the family, leaving his ex-wife with no income and with limited mental capacity to raise a child. Her impaired condition made her irritable with Kane and likely spiraled into depression and madness following Bale's death.

Rosa had to wonder, though … Bale had never been affected by the spell, even though Kane's mother was pregnant with him when Leah enchanted her. Then again, Leah might not have known about the pregnancy. Most white wizards had the spells to find out, but perhaps Leah had never thought to check. Perhaps she had purposely directed her vengeance onto the innocent Kane, who had nothing to do with her love affair or supposed humiliation.

It was profound to consider how the consequences of Leah's spell played out. Kane became the target of so much hatred and vitriol. He would go through life feeling shame and self-doubt from years of abuse, combined with the guilt of his brother's death. He would compete for Bram's attention and join the Templars out of a need that could never be fulfilled. He would face death at the hands of prosecutors, and out of desperation, pledge himself to Samuel Cortez. And finally, with nothing else to live for, he would throw away his only friendship for a false promise of power.

Rosa's heart was in pieces. She had discovered the truth, but too late to save this dying soul. The room dimmed as Kane's body slowly lost its grip on its own Subconscious. Even Coping looked like he was about to fade away.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" the Persona asked.

By now, all actors in this memory had faded, so Rosa put the child onto the nearby bed, feeling too depressed to hold him any longer. She wiped away a tear. "Yes … but I wish I could have done more."

Coping looked pale, as if he too were dying. He curled up on the bed, his body shivering from an unseen draft. Rosa sniffed and wiped away another tear as she drew the blankets up to cover him.

"You've done so much, Rosa. Thank you for the closure. But you should leave, now. You won't want to be here when we all disappear."

Rosa started bawling. She could not help it. It was just too unfair. Kane had been robbed of his mother's love, the most precious thing an innocent child has. And it had been taken from him by a shameless and jealous woman. Rosa knew that Kane's mother had loved him once. If only Kane could feel his mother's love, just once ….

Rosa drew a sharp breath. An idea quickly came to mind, and she hoped it was not too late. "Coping … Coping, please." She tried to wake him.

The sickly-looking boy stirred from his sleep and turned his pale face to Rosa.

"Coping, before this happened to Mother, she loved you. You weren't born to be hated. It was all Leah's fault. All I need you to do … is to take me to a time before any of this ever happened."

Coping struggled to keep his eyes opened. "I … I don't think I can. And if I try … you might not be able to leave."

Rosa thought about the risks. There was never much literature when it came to the Subconscious of a dying patient. But it was not like Kane was slipping into a coma. If he died while Rosa was inside, she figured it would simply force her back to the outside world. Then again, Coping seemed to suggest some kind of risk that Rosa did not know about. Even so, she would not hesitate. Her choice was to proceed forward. She wanted to be there for Coping until the very end.

"It's all right," she told him. "Please take me."

As Rosa watched, Coping slowly disappeared. So did the bed, as well as all the other furniture. All that remained was a dark room, lit by a tiny light in the center. Also in the center was a crib. Rosa wandered over slowly, holding her breath. There was an infant child inside, who stared up toward the ceiling with nothing but innocence.

And then a woman appeared beside him. Kane's mother. And she looked down at her son with such supreme adoration that tears returned to Rosa's eyes. But these were not tears of sadness. In that moment, all that existed in Kane's Subconscious was the infinite purity of a mother's love. Kane's mother picked him up and held him in her arms, and no evil in the world could stand between them.

At last, Kane had found his untarnished memory—a connection with his mother that he had waited his entire life to experience—a moment of bliss before all had been taken from him. Rosa wiped the tears from her eyes, joyous that she could experience it with him. But as she watched the beautiful scene, something began to change.

A white glow slowly enveloped the babe, shining so bright that Rosa had to shield her eyes. Overcome with curiosity, she peered through the blinding light to see what was going on.

At the core of the mother's embrace, small orbs emanated from baby Kane's body and floated through the air. As they drifted away, Rosa saw the outlines of a person. It existed just for a moment, and then the image faded away. It was hauntingly beautiful, and somehow Rosa believed she understood what it meant. Kane's Personas were being released. Each one, now exposed to this heartfelt memory, was ready to be reborn.

Rosa felt incredible serenity. The weight of so much sorrow had suddenly been lifted, and the room itself brightened. Hundreds of white orbs filled the air, adding beauty and wonder to the ever increasing brightness and intensity.

Rosa eventually had to seal her eyes shut. She wanted to witness every last bit of it, but it was too much. A chorus of faint breaths caught her ear.

"Thank you," they said in unison.

When Rosa next opened her eyes, she found herself in the original white Subconscious—which she was surprised to see still existed. And above her, stretching across the horizon, was a spectacular blue sky. She brought her hands to her chest, where her heart beat loudly with excitement.

"You did it," a voice called out from behind.

Rosa spun around to find Coping, once again in adult form.

She was utterly confused. "But … but I thought … that everything was going to disappear."

Coping approached, looking equally bewildered. "I suppose I did as well. And yet, here we both are."

"But how?" Rosa wondered.

Coping smiled. "Because you were willing to give us something that no one else ever did. You believed in us, from the bottom of your heart."

Rosa felt like she was going to burst. "Then, does that mean this world will live on?"

Coping nodded. "I suppose it does."

Rosa took a deep breath. "But what now? Does everything go back to normal?"

Coping shrugged. "I don't think we know what normal is … but one thing's for sure: we've never known peace like this before. I shouldn't even exist."

Rosa realized the potential paradox. Coping was typically a Persona that the mind created in order to deal with trauma. But with peace now restored, he was no longer needed. Even so, he was still present.

"I feel like the world still needs me," he said, as if knowing what Rosa was thinking. "At least, for the time being."

Rosa understood. "You're probably right. This is a time for healing. Things won't be perfect all at once, but perhaps they'll get there, a little at a time."

Coping extended a hand, and Rosa took it, pulling him closer into her embrace. She was not afraid at all. Not anymore. There was never a Persona quite like this one. He returned the hug hesitantly.

"Will you ever be back?" he asked.

Rosa sighed, taking a step back. "No." She felt a bit melancholy for saying so, but she tried her best to hold back the tears. "This world belongs to you … and the others. But I won't ever forget you."

Coping looked like he was fighting back tears of his own. "We won't forget you, either."

Rosa smiled. It was time for her to leave. "Kane …."

The white world faded away. She was back in her prison cell, alongside a former Templar who stirred in his sleep. Groggily, Kane rose to a sitting position, pausing a moment to get his bearings. When his eyes landed on Rosa, his lip quivered.

It started with a small sob, but then he wept openly. Rosa was not afraid to take him in her arms. It was a new beginning for him, almost like being reborn, starting over. He would remember all that had transpired while Rosa and Coping were together.

It would take time, but the healing was long overdue. Rosa would wait for the tears to end, and then she and Kane would leave together.


	30. Chapter 9, Part XIV

**.**

* * *

 **Part XIV**

 _Evening of Terminus, Fourth Day of Duskmoon_

* * *

Bram was frantic. His heart pounded and his muscles tensed as he raced through the aluminum-clad corridors of _Zounds_ obsessing over one thing. His brother's threat still echoed in his head. Kane had supposedly been sent to kill Rosa, and no matter how fast Bram ran, he might already be too late.

Regardless, the Knight pressed on. He rejected these doubts, knowing that his brother could have easily lied. There was no way to know for sure until Rosa was found, and Bram dared not waste time dwelling on worst-case scenarios. _Zounds_ was enormous, and he still had a long way to go before reaching the brig.

With each step, dismay deepened. Ulcers inflamed his gut, his body cramped, and piercing pains stabbed at his heels. For the most part, Bram ignored these discomforts, since the far greater challenge was how to handle the mental anguish surrounding those who had put him in this misery.

The conspirators included his twin—a man of his own blood—as well as a contemptuous former childhood friend. And, though it was impossible to imagine, Bram's own father might have been the orchestrator.

For the better part of his childhood, Bram held onto the idealized vision of a loving blood family. But now, he realized that they were nothing more than manipulative villains who turned on each other to further their cause. The disillusionment was more than just disappointing. It raised the bile in his gut and burned his chest with searing acid. He could have belched fire.

Bram forced his mind to relax, but the poisonous thoughts lingered. Insecurities turned to rage, and rage pressurized into uncontrollable fury, likely to blow with every turn of the corner. As Bram descended onto _Zounds'_ lower decks, he took out his anger on anyone in his path. These included the anonymous soldiers who had chosen to align with his brother. They were all reprehensible evils that needed to be destroyed.

His silver sword glided effortlessly, slicing down Samuel's henchmen by the dozens. Some were well-trained fighters, but even these were no match for his rage. He found their weaknesses and exploited them, quickly disposing their lives. He had no compunctions, no hesitance. These were not innocent men under an Ahriman's spell. These were willing supporters who had pledged themselves to a madman … and they deserved to die. Bram's silver armor was soon bespattered with their blood.

Exhaustion closed in, but he kept his muscles firing. His fuel was his desire to have Rosa alive and at his side. His swordsmanship was flawless. Just like in the old days, he could kill in his sleep. The subconscious mechanism was automatic—and difficult to turn off—especially when he came close to thrusting his weapon into a dear friend.

"Blessed Gaia—Quon!" Bram backed up a few steps, stopping just short of making contact with his sword. "I could have killed you!"

The Kenju Master had turned the corner quite suddenly, but he also retreated several steps. His face glistened. "I … I apologize, Bram. For startling you. But I am afraid I have bad news."

Bram's face drained of blood. Surely the Kenju did not mean …. "You were supposed to go on ahead. You were supposed to bring Rosa back. What happened!?"

Quon waved his hands defensively. "It is not what you think, Bram. I came from the brig. Rosa is not there."

Bram allowed himself to breathe. At least she was not found dead … and that meant that hope remained. Perhaps she was not even aboard the ship. Bram figured that his brother could have been devious enough to bring her elsewhere.

"Please, tell me what happened on your side," the Kenju Master begged. "Did you run into Samuel? Or the Ahriman?"

Bram sighed. Or, perhaps more accurately, he deflated. "Samuel set us up, just as we expected. He had the Sagittarius Stone in his possession, but he refused to use it. We think it's because he's close to being corrupted. But unlike King Richard, my brother knows his limits."

Quon's eyes went wide. "Then where is he now?"

Bram explained how Samuel had called upon Libicocco, and when the Ahriman turned on him, he ran. The Kenju's eyes opened even wider. "That demon is here, too?"

Bram was already anxious about spending so much time to bring Quon up to speed. Rosa could be in trouble at that very moment, and there was still so much of the ship left to cover. He wiped away a bead of sweat that had begun to roll down his neck. "Matthias went after him, and … and there's something else you should know."

Bram briefly explained about Apocalypsis and how Matthias might have to trade his own life in order to defeat Samuel. Now it was the Kenju's turn to deflate. He looked defeated, but Bram cut the conversation short.

"Matthias went after Samuel, but I'm still committed to finding Rosa. I don't know if she's still alive …" The Knight paused to hold back the heartache. "But if she is, then she needs my help now more than—"

An explosion somewhere off in the distance threw Bram off balance. The entire deck shifted to the left for a few moments before finally straightening again. Both men looked around for answers.

"It sounds like it came from up above," Quon observed.

Not even a moment later, another explosion hit. This time, the blast wave sent Bram hurdling toward his friend. Both men collided, which sent them tumbling down the corridor.

When the ship righted itself, the Knight picked himself up and offered his friend a hand. There was no doubt in his mind that the explosions came from Matthias' battle with Samuel. The old wizard must have been holding off on casting Apocalypsis to give Bram and the others more time to escape. And Bram did not want to squander that time now. He needed to get moving.

"Quon, I want you to go back at the hangar to help Cedric ready the _Heron_. We might need a quick escape."

"What about you?" the Kenju wondered.

"I'm not leaving without Rosa … not until I make sure she's no longer aboard this ship."

Quon's jaw tightened. He was clearly unhappy with the arrangement, but he seemed to agree with it. "I have already searched the upper decks. The only areas left are down below, toward the fore of ship."

Bram nodded. "Don't wait up for me. If things get worse, take off without me. I'll find another way."

Quon shook his head violently. "We will not leave without you, Bram."

The Knight grumbled. No matter what he said, the Kenju Master would never leave a man behind. "Fine. I'll be back as soon as I can. But before I go, I need you to hand over the sunstone."

Quon blinked. "Are you sure?"

The Knight held out his hand impatiently. "Libicocco is searching for it. It'll be safer with me."

Quon withdrew the stone from his breast pocket and almost fumbled when it emitted a faint blue light. "Be careful, Bram. I have never seen it do this. It was plain and clear all this time."

"I'll watch out," Bram promised. "Thanks … and you be careful, too."

Bram did not wait for the Kenju to acknowledge him. He already felt anxious for having stayed so long. He sprinted to the fore of the ship, pushing his legs to the limit while keeping his sword ready to dispose of any more of Samuel's men. But at this point, most of the soldiers did not even bother fighting back. They ran in the opposite direction, looking desperate to get off the ship. And the explosions kept coming. Bram steadied himself every thirty seconds or so in preparation for the next jerk in momentum.

As he neared the fore, he ran into one of the giant blast doors, sealed shut. It was a thick impenetrable barrier that represented the end of the line for Bram, unless he could somehow find a way through it. He stepped in front of the control panel and banged his gauntleted fist against it. Unfortunately, there was no response.

He cursed loudly and bashed the panel again. And again. Making no progress, he drew his sword and struck the door itself. But all he got were sparks. He held out his hand, trying with all his might to summon his Grigori powers, but the door never budged. He screamed in frustration.

His powers never seemed to work when he needed them to, yet he had no other apparent way to get through. Shaking with frustration, he threw his body against the door in vain, hoping he might get lucky and dislodge it from its track. But it was no use. He had no chance of getting to the other side.

Once again, an explosion rocked the ship, sending Bram to his hands and knees. There, on the floor, a cloud of despair descended. There was no way forward and no way around. A magical battle raged far above, and it was only a matter of time before _Zounds_ went down in flames. It was time to face reality: Rosa was gone … and Bram was powerless to save her. He imagined a world in which he might never get to feel her touch again … and he started to sob gently.

Just then, he heard a sound from the other side … a pressure valve. Someone was attempting to open the blast door. At last! Perhaps there was hope after all. Bram jumped to his feet and drew his sword, ready for whichever unfortunate soldier was on the other side.

But as the door opened, his eyes landed on the last thing he ever expected to see. It was a woman, ragged in appearance, wearing a thin prisoner's garment that barely covered her legs or shoulders. Her skin was pale, the consistency of clay, and Bram's heart ached as he processed the image.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he expected to feel joy and relief. Instead, they were overshadowed by sadness and confusion. His sword almost slid from his fingers, until he met the eyes of the man standing behind her.

Fury reengaged, and Bram's jaw clenched in anticipation. He had waited too long to cut down this particular enemy. A primal instinct took over. Kane had caused him nothing but pain. He was the cause of all misery, and Bram's sword was thirsty for his blood.

"Bram, no!"

The voice was muted. A pair of hands pulled him back, but he wrenched himself free. Nothing could stop him now. His saw only red and wanted the blood to satisfy his rage. He advanced upon his target, eager for the gratification of steel cutting through flesh … but the relief never came. His blade stuck in mid-air, held in place by magic, only a hair's width from its cowering target.

"Damn you!" he roared. "You'll pay for what you did to me!"

But the former Templar merely pointed with a trembling finger. "B—b—behind you. Dear Goddess … Rosa!"

The sound of his lover's name was like a switch for Bram, turning off the rage and replacing it with horrible trepidation. He slowly turned on his heel to see where the Templar was pointing. On the ground, shaking, was a pitifully filthy wretch with disheveled hair and a trail of blood leading from her upper lip. The blood had come from a newly broken nose … one of Bram's own making.

He fell to his knees. Here was the one he had been searching for … the woman behind all his hopes and dreams … and her blood was on his hands! He felt sickened, wondering how he had done it. Was his blind rage so great that he struck her without realizing it? Could his hatred for Kane have overpowered common sense? What must she think of him? He had never laid a hand on her before ….

He wanted to reach out, pull her close, and tell her he was sorry … but he was afraid. Afraid that she would reject him.

"Rosa … I …."

She used the back of her hand to wipe away the blood. Her hands shook, and her breathing came in short rasps. Her lips moved, but no words came out. She looked at him as if he had gone ahead and stabbed her in the heart.

"I—I'm sorry!" He forced the apology out, but it lacked in every way possible. "I didn't mean to push you. But I …."

Deep within Rosa's dark brown eyes he saw betrayal. The one man she had trusted the most had hurt her. The guilt was unbearable!

Bram offered his hand, but Rosa rejected it, instead using the adjacent wall to pull herself to her feet. "I'm fine," she claimed, but her tone said otherwise. "But you mustn't hurt him, Bram. I won't allow it. He helped me escape."

Bram felt like a mule his just kicked him in the head. Not only was he the villain for striking his fiancée, but now she was willing to defend the man responsible for her captivity—not to mention so many other atrocities!

"No! Whatever he's told you is a lie!" Bram looked down at his sword, which still yearned for Kane's blood. He sheathed it quickly, lest it act on its own. He then pointed to Kane with a gauntleted finger, ready to tear the man's character to shreds.

"He's the real monster, Rosa! He's been working with my brother all along. He tried to kill me in Koba … he carried your unconscious body out of the temple at Loulan … and then he used you as a bartering chip. He's a soulless lapdog, and—"

"Bram, stop!" Rosa's voice was firm, and it cut like glass. She was angry, and he could tell that she was holding back tears. "I don't have time to explain, but Kane's past is behind us now. He's not our enemy. You're just going to have to trust me."

Bram bit his tongue. He suspected some kind of trick. Rosa must have been put under some kind of spell. She was not thinking straight, and he would need to convince her otherwise.

But as he stared into her eyes, he saw an expression that went beyond simple sincerity. It was a familiar look—one that told him she was of her right mind, and that he needed to hold his objections, at least for the time being. There was also something else: anger … disappointment … and shame.

Bram hung his head. This was not the way he had wanted to reunite with his lost love. He should have been a hero, but instead she glared at him like he was a lowlife. Even worse, the miscreant standing beside her had somehow gained her trust. The whole thing was twisted and upside-down. Bram wished he had another chance.

"Rosa … you have no idea what I've been through. I've crawled through the Burning Pits just to get here!"

She crept closer, eyes glistening. "Look, I understand. We've been through a lot. And I still need you. There's a battle going on atop this airship …."

Indeed, the battle was between Matthias and Samuel. There was so much Bram needed to explain. But now was not the time.

She had more to say. "I've detected damage along the main struts. It's only a matter of time before this ship becomes unstable, and we crash. I know you must be confused … but we're going to need Kane's help. I'll explain everything as soon as we're off this ship."

Bram could hardly debate the need to escape. His heart warmed just knowing that Rosa was safe, and that she did not hold any resentment. Even so, he had blown his chance for a heartfelt reunion. Now there was tension, and it was thick enough to leave him feeling anxious and uncertain. He looked over to Kane, who had not moved since Bram had knocked him down. Something was different about him. He was almost … submissive.

Bram faced the one he loved. "Just promise me that you know what you're doing. I can't let him off the hook, Rosie … not after what he's done. He deserves justice. What's more, he's dangerous. I don't want him stabbing one of us in the back the moment we let down our guard."

"He won't," Rosa promised. "Just promise me that we'll all leave together."

Bram glared at his childhood friend. Kane's face made him sick just looking at it. "Get up!" he ordered.

But as Kane stood, another explosion hit the ship, rocking it hard. A nearby pipe burst, releasing a hiss of pressurized steam. Although … mixed in with the high-pitched squeal was something else … something ominous. Bram's ears detected a subtle yet haunting laughter. He peered down the corridor past Rosa and Kane. A dozen spans further back, in a dark recess where damaged lights flickered overhead, a shadowy substance swirled.

A sinister voice echoed throughout the tunnel. "I had hoped my insects would fight among themselves. But … I suppose I wouldn't mind killing you myself."

Bram's hand went to his belt pouch, where he carried the Pisces Stone. It emitted a bright blue glow as soon as he opened the pouch's flap. He looked back at the shadowy figure. "Libicocco."

Laughter returned. "Oh, yes … and I see you brought my brother, too. You made it far too easy, Insect."

When the creature was fully formed, it had a vague resemblance to King Arcesilaus. But now, it was far more demon than man. Its skin was rotted—or possibly reptilian—and its eyes glowed like burning embers. As for the voice, it rattled around Bram's head like only an Ahriman's could. Fear entered his heart as the vibrations of another explosion rattled from above.

The creature bared its teeth and hissed. "Abaddon, my brother! Tonight, together, we wage chaos upon this world!"

Bram felt Rosa's hand, followed by her telepathic voice. " _Relax, Bram, and follow my lead._ "

He grasped the hand firmly and heard words of magic. She pulled, and it was just like the experience in the streets of Loulan, where her spell took him lightning-fast in pursuit of Angkor's galleon-class airship. He remembered houses and buildings blazing past on either side. And now, so did the corridors of _Zounds_. An ear-piercing screech came from behind as a demon of unspeakable evil witnessed its prey escape.

Bram looked over his shoulder but wished he had not. The body of the Elfen King stretched like putty, its face transforming into an oversized set of jaws that could only be described as snakelike.

The unholy abomination slithered quickly down the long passages, gaining ground even as Rosa led Bram and Kane to the upper decks. It drew ever closer, jaws snapping in anticipation.

"Rosa, it's gaining on us!" Bram warned, his skin crawling with apprehension.

Rosa broke contact after passing one of the blast doors. Bram skidded to a stop, nearly stumbling in the process. But not so for Rosa. She very quickly uttered words of magic, and the blast door slammed shut. It was just in time to block the rapidly advancing Ahriman.

A resounding thud permeated the room, then … silence.

Bram readied his sword. Not that he truly believed it would do any good, but its weight still felt good in his hands. The demonic _thing_ on the other side was unlike any spawn or creature he had ever encountered. But if it was anything like Abaddon, his sword would be useless.

Bram held his breath as he waited for the Ahriman to strike. He was sure that it would burst through at any moment, but all he heard were rumblings from above, signs that the epic battle between Samuel and Matthias waged on.

The silence stretched on for almost a minute, fraying Bram's nerves one strand at a time. He was almost ready to move on when a high-pitched blood-curdling scraping came from the blast door. He, Rosa, and Kane simultaneously stepped back to get as far from the door as possible.

"Come on," he urged, taking Rosa's hand once more.

The noise repeated, multiple times, like shears rubbing together or steel sliding against steel. And yet, Rosa was frozen in place. She stared at the blast door, as if in shock.

Bram squeezed her hand to get her attention. "Let's go!"

She awoke from her trance, grabbing Kane with her other hand. As she restarted her incantation, an object burst forth from the center of the blast door. It looked like a giant green blade, and it was soon followed by a second. The blades melded into hooks, and each grabbed a side of the steel plate and pulled. An even louder ripping sound, and the door was wrenched from its frame.

The creature lurking on the other side was a monstrosity borne from the depths of a nightmare. Its bottom half was a centipede, with hundreds of tiny legs and segments stretching out far behind the creature. Meanwhile, the top half included a human-like torso with female breasts, a human-like head with eight spidery eyes, and sharp mandibles protruding from either side of the mouth. But, most horrifying was a set of gigantic green forelegs—like a mantis—with deadly serrated spines and enough strength to rip open a steel blast door.

Fear and flight drove Bram's next moves. He gripped Rosa firmly until her spell was ready. Then, like lightning, all three hurdled through the dark aluminum tunnels. Libicocco leapt into the air, gliding after them without touching the ground. The long centipede-like body whipped and weaved as it flew.

The heroes fled toward the ship's aft as fast as Rosa's spell could carry them. As they passed by various blast doors, Rosa shut them with her magic. Unfortunately, these only stalled the creature temporarily. It took Libicocco only a moment to rip each door from its frames and continue pursuit. Bram worried that by the time they reached the hangar, there would be nowhere left to run. And all the while, the Ahriman slowly gained.

When they finally reached their destination, Rosa, Bram, and Kane stopped dead in their tracks. The floor was littered with dismembered bodies. Blood and gore were splayed everywhere, and Bram gagged at the sight of it. Only Libicocco could have done so much damage. Bram suspected the demon must have crossed through the hangar on its way to find him, massacring the soldiers who were en route to evacuating the ship.

Bram was out of time. _Zounds_ was already losing altitude, and a deadly force of evil was closing in fast. He scanned for any sight of Quon or Cedric, hoping not to find them among the dead. Fortunately, he did not.

Once again, Rosa sealed the blast door, but this time she placed a shimmering translucent barrier across its surface. Even so, it was just a matter of time before Libicocco found a way through.

"I've done all I can," Rosa confessed, "but it will buy us only a minute or two. We must leave the ship at once. Wait … where's Kane?"

Bram looked on either side, trying to locate the man he loathed with all his being. "Kane! Show yourself, coward!"

Then again, perhaps the Templar's disappearance was for the best. The last thing Bram needed was for a dangerous sociopath to board the _Heron_ with him.

Rosa called out. "Kane! Please answer. You'll be safe with us. I promise!"

"Leave him be!" Bram ordered. "We're better off without him. He's a liar and a backstabber, and he'll turn on us the moment we let down our guard."

Rosa's eyes flared. "No, Bram, you don't understand—"

She was interrupted by another huge explosion. Bram leapt forward to grab his love before she was thrown off her feet. He wrapped his arms around her protectively, feeling her warmth, embracing her spirit. It was such a great relief from the ache he had been feeling since their awkward reunion. Even so, the tension still overshadowed what was supposed to be blissful moment. He wondered how things had gone so terribly wrong.

He remained crouched while he waited for the ship to stabilize. When it finally did, he tried again to reason with Rosa.

"Look," he kept his tone soft, which was difficult to do with so much anger. "I don't claim to know what Kane did to help you, but right now we need to think about ourselves. This airship might very well go down in flames, and Libicocco can't be far behind. Please, Rosie. You can't help everyone. Don't lose focus on what's important."

He saw a kindhearted resistance in her eyes that was all too familiar. Oh, how he wanted to embrace her for just a little while longer. Unfortunately, now was not the time for reconciliation. Peril was too close!

She opened her mouth, looking as if she had something important to say. But before she could utter the words, the floor rumbled. Something was shuffling around underneath. Bram took Rosa by the hand and quickly dashed to the side.

It was none too soon. From under the aluminum flooring, a set of long green forearms bore their way through. Bram's first instinct was to run, but the last thing he wanted to do was lead this demon to the _Heron_ and destroy his only means of escape. Somehow, he needed to fight back and find a way to defeat this monster once and for all.

"Stay back," he instructed.

"What do you think you're doing, Bram?" she demanded, watching in dismay as the huge slithering bug-creature forced its way out of the crawl space. Her voice shook. "You—you can't expect to face it. It's just too powerful!"

"We don't have a choice …."

Bram trailed off as the rest of Libicocco's massive body freed itself from the ductwork and hovered high above them. It looked down on its prey, wriggling its bug-legs and spreading its mandibles with delight. Its voice was a swarm of gnats buzzing in Bram's ear.

"I HAVE WAITED TOO LONG TO DINE ON HUMAN FLESH!"

Bram unsheathed his sword, but it looked puny compared to the monster's longer and sharper forearms. Yet he was undeterred. He stood in front of Rosa, summoning whatever powers might be inside of him.

The creature reared its head in a horrid facsimile of laughter. High-pitched and ear-splitting, the noise was like a swarm of cicadas, and it echoed throughout the chamber. Blackish-green ooze dripped from the demon's mandibles, sizzling and smoking as it hit the aluminum grates. An acrid scent wafted to Bram's nose.

The abomination towered high, but the Knight faced it bravely. He tried to put himself into the same state of mind he had while facing Abaddon. Libicocco reared a forearm in full backswing, then swung it straight at him.

Bram reached for his Grigori powers. They were his only hope for survival, but … all he felt was the same emptiness as earlier. The peaceful serenity of the Oracle's magic was thousands of leagues away. His mind faltered, failing to clear itself of grief and frustration … of thoughts of Rosa and Kane … of his brother … his father …. His mind was awash with tension and anxiety.

His battle against Abaddon had been clear by comparison. He was a holy knight on a mission to cleanse the world from these evil abominations. But now he was clouded with doubt: what was he doing? Why was he doing it? Did the world truly need salvation, or was mankind simply too greedy and selfish to deserve it? Here he was, fighting for a woman who did not appreciate him … for a family who despised him … and for a best friend who had betrayed him.

He had no more will to summon his Grigori powers. Whatever force of nature had helped him before, it now abandoned him in his moment of need. This was the end. He braced for Libicocco's forearm, easily expecting it to cleave him in two.

But, before making contact, an unseen barrier stopped it in midflight. The crash of the physical blow against the magical force field woke Bram from his trance. He realized that Rosa had joined him in his stand against the demon. She already had a second spell prepared when Libicocco sprung into the air. As the monster flew, its body transformed, growing a pair of spinnerets from its tail section—the kind attached to a spider's abdomen.

A white substance shot straight at Bram and Rosa before they could react. Bram dove out of the way, but Rosa was not so lucky. The thick webbing covered her face, blocking her nose and mouth. She clawed at it in desperation. Bram tried to help her, but another piece of webbing flew right at him. Instinctively, he used his sword to bat it away, but the webbing took the blade right out of his hands. The silver weapon hit the ground with a series of clinks.

Meanwhile, Rosa was in full panic. She was suffocating.

Libicocco buzzed with delight. "FACE ME, INSECTS! FIGHT BACK. IT MAKES THE MEAT TASTE EVEN SWEETER!"

Bram had reached his breaking point. Rosa was begging for air, and yet Libicocco was waiting for him to make the first move and leave himself vulnerable. There was nothing he could do. The creature had outfoxed his every move. His Grigori powers were gone, and within minutes, _Zounds_ would go down in flames. He needed _something_ that would tilt the advantage in his favor. He needed power … power that only the Pisces Stone could offer.

He looked down at his hand, finding that he had already taken the sunstone out of his belt pouch. Its azure glow was mesmerizing. Yes … it was surely the help he needed. Libicocco looked at him with her many beaded eyes, daring him to use it.

A smile crept upon Bram's lips. It seemed this demon wanted its playthings to fight back. It must get some sick enjoyment out of toying with its prey before eating it. Bram chuckled. He was about to show Libicocco what happens when its food bites back.

"Bram, no!"

A woman of no consequence cried out, but he ignored her. Only one thing was important, and that was slaying this monstrosity with the sunstone's power. And, _oh_ , the power had never tasted so sweet. His body radiated with it, ready to unleash a torrent so great that it would annihilate the Ahriman completely.

And why stop there? There were others that Bram would enjoy hunting down with his newfound power. Not just Ahrimen, but also his brother … and Kane … and even his father. They would all feel the wrath of his justice! One sunstone made it all possible. A sunstone that was … slowly being … wrested … from his grasp.

Indeed, the woman in prisoner's garb was attempting to hoist it away.

"Bram, please!" Tears rolled down her cheeks. "Don't let it control you!"

The Knight was horrified that this wench dared to stand against him. He had an Ahriman to slay, and this girl meant nothing! He struck her with the back of his hand. She nearly toppled over, but her resolve remained and her grip tightened. Soon enough she was back on her feet. Disheveled hair fell over a ragged face, and dribbled drops from a broken nose bled down the edge of her jaw.

"I won't let go," she promised. A stream of salt ran from her eyes to the pools of red. "I love you, Bram … and if you can hear me … please … loosen your grip."

Wretched woman! He would need to make an example out of her, one that would show all the world that none could stand against him. He gathered the power, about to destroy her, but his own body … would not listen. His fingers numbed, and his grip loosened ….

A pain unlike anything he had ever felt before crippled his body. It was like ripping a limb out of its socket. He howled in sheer agony as the corrupting power slowly drained from his body. Even if it had been his own lifeblood, he would not have felt so weak and injured. He sank to his knees, wishing he had destroyed the woman when he had the chance.

No … that was not what he wanted. He loved this woman! She was a part of his heart. He loved her with _all_ his heart! What had he done?

"IMPUDENT INSECT!"

Libicocco drew her powerful mantis-like forearm back once again, this time aiming straight at Rosa. Bram's entire body clenched as he realized the mistake he had made. His rage and weaknesses had invited Abaddon inside, and now Rosa was going to pay for it. He ran to her, but he knew he could never make it in time. Not even close!

And yet, Rosa stood her ground. She held the Pisces Stone at arm's length and directed it at Libicocco. Just as the monster's forearm was about to cleave right through her, a high-pressure jet of water gushed from her outstretched hand. The force sent the hulking demon crashing to the floor. Screams of rage erupted as the massive centipede-like body fell with an earth-shattering thud. Bram's heart sang as he raced toward the woman he loved.

Unfortunately, Libicocco did not go down so easily. Its body shifted and reformed. The abdomen grew large, dark, and furry—and spidery legs sprouted from underneath, giving it better stabilization. A grotesque mouth grew out of the flesh along the midsection, as well as a thick set of mandibles capable of chomping down on the insects standing before it. And above this feeding orifice, a feminine upper torso jutted out with humanlike arms and shoulders.

However, this time Bram saw something embedded right below the breasts. He pointed and shouted loudly. "The Gemini Stone. Look! It's the only way to defeat this monster!"

Rosa raised the Pisces Stone, ready to stun the demon a second time. Sadly, nothing happened. She shook it a few times, but to no avail.

Her eyes widened. "It's not working!"

Bram felt a cold sweat. "What do you mean?"

She shook her head. "I don't know! Whatever I did the first time, I can't seem to repeat it!"

Buzzing laughter erupted from above. "FOOLISH INSECTS. MY BROTHER SEALED OFF HIS POWERS. YOU ARE NOW HELPLESS BUGS, ABOUT TO BE DESTROYED!"

Bram took Rosa in his arms and held her close as Libicocco's massive spidery body hovered above them. If this was truly the end, he wanted one last chance to embrace the one he loved. To his great joy, Rosa accepted his embrace and squeezed back. Even though he had twice mistreated her. Bram felt terrible. He was so undeserving, but nonetheless grateful. He closed his eyes, ready to have his body crushed inside an abominable demon mouth.

But, miraculously, it never happened. Bram opened his eyes to witness the tip of a spear protruding from the monster's feminine torso. Not only that, but the spear's blade also partially dislodged the sunstone from its well-secured cavity.

The Knight was dumbstruck. Riding atop the monster's neck was Kane! The former Templar must have found a spear among the dead and climbed to the top of the hangar to deliver his famed Templar technique. Bram remembered that same move from the cave just outside the Valley of Ur, when Kane used it to take down the Ouroborus.

Of course, the spear did little to slow down Libicocco. The demon was furious, rocking its body back and forth to shake its attacker loose. Even so, the bucking served to further dislodge the sunstone. It hung by a thread, and Bram worried that it might fall between the aluminum grates, and he would never find it.

So Bram reached out, timing his moves to the monster's flailing while Kane held on with all his might. At last, the remaining piece of demon flesh snapped, and Bram made a dive.

"I've got it!"

Rosa dashed into the sunstone's path. As she reached out with her hand, Bram's heart stopped. She already possessed the Pisces Stone, and the Gemini Stone meant two. Bram knew that touching both at the same time meant something terrible, but Rosa had no way of knowing!

Bram screamed a warning, putting his full heart into his voice. " _Rosa, no! Don't touch it!_ "

But it was too late. Her hand clenched around the sunstone, and almost immediately, a look of utter terror and repugnance crossed her face. She gritted her teeth and sank to her knees, screaming in utmost agony. Libicocco quickly shifted its attention to the sunstone.

"NO! RETURN IT TO ME, OR YOUR SUFFERING WILL LAST FOR ALL ETERNITY!"

Bram had one chance. He leapt to Rosa's side and took the Gemini Stone away from her. He then held it in front, wishing the monster inside. This time, his mind was clear and his focus was pure. He summoned his powers, and the hangar was flooded with a shimmering golden light.

"NO!" the demon shrieked.

It tried to retreat, but Bram held the sunstone tightly. He crouched low and braced himself against the pull of magic. The entire hangar was bathed in light, melding color and sound in intense waves of sensory chaos.

Libicocco dug its spidery legs into the aluminum grates, but its effort was futile. There was no way for an Ahriman to resist the attractive force of the sunstone. The demon screamed, sounding like a swarm of wasps. The noise mixed with the low-frequency pounding of the sunstone's sonic waves as Libicocco lost its grip. Its massive body flew through the hangar toward Bram, shrinking in the process.

It all happened so fast, and then the room went dark. Bram struggled to see, and it took a few moments for his vision to return. He blinked a few times, and slowly the hangar came back into view. There was Rosa, unconscious and crumpled in a heap on the floor. Bram reached out to help her, but he held back when his sunstone twitched and glowed.

Rosa's sunstone also radiated bright sapphire, and it dawned on the Knight that the two sunstones were reacting. Bram was unwilling to risk two Ahriman prisons becoming unstable, but he also wanted to be at his lover's side. Rosa needed help!

"Please say something!" he begged from a distance, badly wanting to hold and comfort her. He wondered how he was going to escape if he could not get close enough to carry her back to the _Heron_.

That was when Kane approached. The former Templar walked with a limp, but he used his newfound spear to steady himself.

Bram's guard went up. "Don't go near her!" he threatened.

Kane's expression was difficult to read. He seemed more saddened than angry. When he finally found his words, they were succinct. "She needs help, Bram. I can carry her."

The Knight bared his teeth. "Don't go anywhere near her. You've done enough. Just get out—"

Another explosion interrupted his response. He waited for the ship to stabilize, wishing he could be at Rosa's side to protect her. It was a heightened reminder of the urgency to escape, but Bram was still against having a backstabbing traitor provide assistance. Fortunately, a familiar voice called out from behind.

"Bram!"

The Kenju Master of Koba ran toward him. Bram was immensely relieved to see his friend unharmed, not to mention that Quon would be able to help with Rosa. Further down the hangar, an airship engine started. It was the _Heron_ , and it appeared that it would soon be ready to go. Bram had never felt so grateful.

Quon went straight to Rosa's body. He bent down to check her condition. "What happened? Is she hurt?"

"Actually, Quon, I need you to carry this for me." Bram waved the Gemini Stone. "I can't go near her while I'm still holding it. It's because Rosa holds a second sunstone in her hand."

Quon noticed the glowing Pisces Stone and nodded hesitantly. Bram realized he would need to explain more later, but at least his friend trusted him enough to agree without question. As soon as Bram relinquished his sunstone, he went to Rosa and very gently took her in his arms.

"Thank Gaia you're unhurt," he mused as he returned to his feet with Rosa in tow. "I was worried when I saw all the dead soldiers."

The Kenju Master shuddered. "By the time I made it back to the hangar, there were dozens of them. I was beginning to doubt that I could reach the Heron unnoticed." He winced even further, no doubt recalling a terrible memory. "So I laid back, waiting for an opportunity. That was when Libicocco arrived."

Bram saw the pain written all over Quon's face, and he did not want to force the Kenju Master to relive his terrible memories. "It's alright, Quon. I know what happened. But right now, we need to get aboard the _Heron_."

The Kenju Master looked to Kane accusingly. "I saw what he did … but I am unsure what to make of it. How did he come to fight alongside us? And what happened to Rosa?"

"He's not our friend," Bram explained. "But he helped Rosa escape, and we couldn't have defeated Libicocco without him. So now I don't know what to do with him."

Quon's lips tightened. "We should consider extracting some information. He no doubt has valuable answers after working with Samuel for so long."

Bram shook his head. "I'm not sure it's safe to have him on board with us. Who knows what he's capable of doing?"

Kane stepped forward. "Bram, listen. Rosa's been marked by the Ahriman. I think I know how to help her, but you've got to hear me out."

Bram glared at his childhood friend. His patience for lies had run out, even though Quon seemed to take an interest.

"What does it mean to be _marked_?" the Kenju asked.

Kane's expression turned grave, and his eyes were transfixed on the cold aluminum grates. "It means that Abaddon has a hold on her. She can't give up the sunstone, no matter how hard she tries. Without help, it's only a matter of time before the Ahriman takes control of her."

Bram was outraged. He was convinced that Kane was making up bogus claims, just so he could negotiate later and save his hide from justice.

"You son of a bitch!" the Knight spat. "I've had enough of your lies, your pacts, and your manipulations. Whatever you think you know, it's worthless to me!"

"Bram, please," Kane looked genuinely resigned. "I don't want anything from you. Just a chance to tell my story. You don't even need to believe it. But if there's a chance that I can help Rosa … I need to try."

Bram's eyes narrowed. "I don't believe you." He was hell bent on proving the Templar wrong about the sunstone, so he set Rosa down and tried prying it from her hand. Her fingers still clenched it tightly, but she was unconscious. It could not possibly be that hard to take it ….

The next thing Bram knew, Quon was running over to help him. It seemed the sunstone had released some kind of electrical discharge, which sent him hurdling several spans in the other direction. He rubbed his now sore arms and shoulders.

He still glared at Kane, finding it hard to admit that his old friend might be right. Nevertheless, the _Heron_ would soon be ready to take off, and escape was now or never.

"Quon, please take Kane to the _Heron's_ holds and lock the door. If he has information about Rosa's affliction, we'll get it later."

The Kenju nodded. "Agreed. That seems to be the best course of action."

Bram looked over at the _Heron_. The engines had ramped in speed and were ready for takeoff.

He shot Kane one final remark. "Just make sure you don't make me regret taking you with us. I won't hesitate to kill you."

Kane's sad but understanding expression remained, and he nodded. With that, Bram took Rosa's body once again in his arms and limped to his airship.

While Quon took his prisoner to the holds, Bram brought Rosa to her old cabin. Just seeing it again brought back memories. He placed her in her cot, his heart aching as he thought about all she had gone through. Her complexion was pale and her hair a tangled mess. Bram removed his gauntlets and used his fingers to straighten it out as best he could. He thought about her long imprisonment, his awkward reunion, and now this curse from having touched a second sunstone. If Kane's claims had even a shred of truth ….

Bram squeezed out a few tears. Rosa was right in front of him, yet she was unable to feel his comfort. He placed a heavy blanket on top and tucked in the edges. It might be a bumpy ride, and he did not want her falling out. He kissed her forehead, wishing he could tell her how much he loved her.

Far above, he heard another explosion. That was his signal. He needed to be on the deck, helping the others to leave this goddess-forsaken place. It was hard to tear himself away, but he mustered the resolve.

Once up above, he found Cedric there waiting for him. Bram was thankful to see the injured craftsman back on his feet, fully alert, and ready to help. "Cedric, how are we getting out of here?"

The craftsman stroked his beard, and his eyes shifted as if he were running complex calculations in his head. "We'd be out already, except the outer hatch seems to be stuck. I think the manna conduits have been severed."

Bram frowned. "Why can't we just blast through?"

Another explosion rocked the ship. They were happening more frequently now, and it felt like the ship was losing altitude fast. Bram offered Cedric his arm for support. The last thing he needed was for the craftsman to reopen his wounds.

"We can't just arm the cannons and fire at random," Cedric responded emphatically. "The hangar is pressurized and will buckle the moment we tear through the hull! I need some time to figure out the best place to fire."

Bram grunted. It seemed certain that _Zounds_ was only moments away from its demise. "We don't have time, Cedric. I need your best guess, and I need it now."

Cedric looked torn, but he did not argue. He studied the walls of the hangar and pointed. "There. But you should know that no matter where we shoot, we'll be taking a risk."

"Noted." Bram had to trust the craftsman's intuition. Cedric knew his design better than anyone. And it was better to take the risk than for everyone to die waiting.

Bram noticed Quon emerge from below deck, and he called to him. "Help me load the cannons with firebombs. We need to aim these at that wall over there."

Amid violent thrashes and an ever-increasing decline in altitude, Bram and Quon prepped the cannons.

"Take cover!" he yelled before pulling the trigger.

The firebombs launched, and their explosive blasts sent waves of heat across the deck. Bram and Quon took cover until the blast subsided. True to Cedric's word, a gaping hole remained, just large enough for the Heron to fit. Of course, the quickly depressurizing hangar created a reverse airflow that pulled some of the other airships toward the opening. Cedric rushed over to the controls.

"Take us out of here!" Bram cried, and the craftsman was happy to oblige.

Cedric pushed forward on the throttle and directed the _Heron_ toward the opening. The hole was a bit lopsided, and it was too late to pull back and readjust. Cedric had no choice but to plow through, snapping the main mast on the way out. Bram and Quon grabbed onto the railing for support as the rest of the ship jerked itself to safety.

Once airborne, Bram and Cedric turned back to _Zounds_. The hull was now surrounded in flames, and the ship itself was on a collision course with the ocean. It was a stunning sight, especially against the backdrop of the setting sun.

As Bram watched, he saw a bright flash of light. From atop the giant airship, a glowing ball of fire brighter than the sun itself appeared and grew until it consumed at least half the structure. Bram needed no explanation.

"Matthias …."

Cedric looked at Bram with an expression of profound grief. Quon turned away, unwilling to let his friends see his tears.

Bram felt empty inside. Matthias had waited for just the right moment to cast Apocalypsis, holding off until his friends escaped. He had held true to his word, using his gift only as a last resort. Bram only hoped that Samuel was finally dead.

As he reminisced about his friend, the cantankerous old wizard with a heart of gold, he felt inspired to say something. If nothing else, perhaps it would serve as an epitaph to honor his dear friend.

"Matthias sacrificed himself for all of us. Let us hope he found peace, and that his spirit lives on."

He wiped away a tear and said goodbye to his friend.


	31. Chapter 9, Part XV

**.**

* * *

 **Part XV**

 _A Few Moments Earlier ... Terminus, Fourth Day of Duskmoon_

* * *

Samuel's battle against the gray wizard's magical onslaught was proving more difficult than he had expected. Even with Belial's help, the intensity of spellcasting and defensive maneuvers sapped at his manna reserves. It was impossible to imagine that he—a master of his art, trained by one of the greatest black wizards in the modern age, and aided with the help of a sunstone—could not squash this troublesome ant.

It was true that Samuel did not use the Ahriman's powers at full strength. It was tempting, but he was no fool. Belial was poised to take control the moment he asked for too much. Only a scant bit more from the sunstone, and the Ahriman would own him, body and soul.

The Gnostic was too clever to let that happen. Rather than use the Ahriman's magic directly, Samuel channeled the sunstone's energy in conjunction with his own manna. That way, he could minimize the physical drain on his body without getting corrupted. Unfortunately, the technique was far from being a panacea. Fatigue was still catching up quickly.

He used every trick at his disposal. Everything from furious lighting storms to monstrous explosions with razor-sharp shrapnel. And still, the gray wizard endured. This Matthias was a mortal of finite energy, but he cast magic as if he had the manna of twenty master wizards. Earlier, the clever man had channeled directly from _Zounds'_ own fuel conduits. But here, atop the airbase itself, he would have nothing but his own reserves.

How, then, did he maintain such stamina? There had to be something that Samuel was missing, and it drove him mad trying to figure it out. For sure, the old man did not have a sunstone, nor did he carry any obvious artifact or vessel of power. There were no visible liquid manna reserves, nor observable enchantments against fatigue.

Samuel ran the gamut of possibilities, but he was left without answers. The mere thought that he was being bested by common rabble raised his blood pressure to unprecedented levels. If his father ever found out about his performance in this battle, the shame would be unbearable!

The Gnostic Knight raised his hand and uttered the words to a shield spell. There were many different kinds of these spells, each requiring fine-tuning to adjust to specific attacks. In this case, the gray wizard had sent a torrent of hail and molten rock crashing in Samuel's direction. The combination of fire and ice complicated his invisible barrier, but he raised it just in time. Even so, the blast rattled him to the core, melting and shaking the ship's hull all around him. Samuel shifted his stance to steady himself.

Indeed, the gray wizard deserved credit.

Samuel drew deep within his memories for the right response. His teacher and foster guardian, Manuel Cortez, had given him knowledge of many arcane spells—including dark incantations that had long been banned from the rest of the wizarding community. As Samuel uttered the words to one of them, tendrils of black smoke sprung forth from his fingertips. They twisted and swam along air currents like sea serpents, growing in power as they circled their target.

And yet, the old man remained calm as he raised his staff. Samuel's dark projectiles enveloped him, covering the wizard's body from head to toe in a cocoon of utter darkness. Samuel was certain it would finally be the end of this troublesome enemy. But to his surprise, a thin beam of light broke through the dark swathe, followed by several more. In moments, the black swaddling exploded, and at its core remained the gray wizard, surrounded in a halo of white light.

Samuel cursed. Why did the old man not fall! What was he doing wrong?

He thought briefly about the prospects of retreat. It would be a humiliating last resort, not to mention a serious setback to his tasks. His father was counting on him to complete his mission, and there was too much at stake to leave emptyhanded. Then again, he could not risk being killed—or worse, leave his soul exposed and obliterated by the Ahriman. The last thing he needed was to be turned into a slave for one of these demons. All that he had worked so hard to accomplish would be for nothing!

He wondered if his father would be merciful if he fled. He might have no choice. Unfortunately, he knew that time was short. The celestial convergence about to occur would not wait for him to corner his brother a second time. Samuel was committed to the task of securing the sunstones and moonstones, and he could not leave _Zounds_ without the Pisces Stone in hand.

If only Virgil had not interfered! Samuel's original plan would have been flawless. He would have placed his brother and crew in an impossibly precarious position. The gray wizard would have been defenseless and easily destroyed, and Samuel would have gained his second sunstone.

But for some reason, Virgil had intentionally sabotaged the mission, leaving his cohort to take the fall. Whether it was out of spite or something more nefarious, Samuel did not know. He recalled Abraham's foolish theory that Virgil was a disguise for the Ahriman, Lord Zagan. It was a ridiculous notion, based on nothing more than a dimwitted and faulty connection between Virgil and one of Maurice Vance's old apprentices.

Samuel scoffed at the idea. It was true that he did not know everything about Virgil's past, but he had known the clownish man for most of his life. Virgil had been a friend to the Cortez family—a bit of an uncle figure until Samuel discovered that his parents were merely foster guardians and that his true father was a figure of far greater importance. More than he could have possibly imagined, in fact.

Even so, Manuel Cortez and his unwed partner, Leah, had raised him since he was a boy. Both were rogue wizards, and hence outcasts from society. Neither provided much in terms of parental affection, but Samuel did get good training from his foster father, and his foster mother brought coin to the table from her side job of conning wealthy businessmen out of their fortunes. She was quite good at it, too. She had even once targeted a former statesman by the name of Randolph Harding, who happened to be the father of a certain Templar.

Samuel sighed. He wondered whatever happened to Kane. Samuel had been intrigued ever since learning about the strange connection. It was quite a coincidence that Kane had survived childhood abuses and torments that were so similar to Samuel's own. The Templar might have understood Samuel better than any other henchmen. And one day, the two might have even become friends.

Of course, Manuel would have called such thoughts nothing but foolish sentimentalism. He had argued many times that Samuel should not get emotionally attached to others. Then again, Samuel had always hated his former guardian. He needed no justification when choosing his subordinates. Kane had survived abuses that would have left many lesser men scarred for life. Samuel admired his strength and felt it was worth grooming him as an ally, no matter what Manuel would have said.

Unfortunately, the prospects for this were all but gone at this point. The Templar's mental health had deteriorated even before he was exposed to Belial's shadow. Samuel figured that Kane was probably deep in a coma somewhere, crumpled in a dark corner from all the intense pressure on his psyche.

It was a sad loss, and all due to Miss Reynolds' meddling. Samuel really had no choice but to use the Ahriman's powers, once Virgil discovered the young woman's involvement. Otherwise, he would have killed Kane on the spot. By accident, of course—just to be sure.

Samuel had high aspirations for Kane, but now he had to survive on his own, as before. Unfortunately, a troublesome gray wizard still stood in his path, ready to destroy everything that Samuel had worked so hard to achieve. It was all about to go down in flames, along with _Zounds_.

And by the look of it, the old man was about to cast another complex spell. Samuel braced himself while searching for the right defense. He already had the spell in mind when a flurry of explosive projectiles hurdled toward him. Unfortunately, his reaction times were impaired. His lips moved as if his mouth were full of honey, and his body slowed, as if moving underwater.

Somehow, the gray wizard had landed a time manipulation spell, rare incantations, often with unpredictable results. In this case, it slowed the rate of time around Samuel's immediate area, making it impossible for him to finish the incantation for an anti-concussive shield.

He needed to think fast and change tactics, so he uttered the short incantation of a thinning spell. It was the only thing he knew to cast with the time he had left. As the missiles approached at full speed, he braced himself for intense pain. Magic squeezed his bones and pressed his flesh. He screamed as his entire body—armor and all—became as thin as the width of a finger. Meanwhile, the missiles whizzed past on either side.

Samuel waited a few moments for the thinning spell to wear off. He had used such magic a few times before while training with Manuel, and it always took a few days for the soreness to go away. But at least this time, it was worth it. He had survived the gray wizard's onslaught, and now it was his turn to respond.

He extended his arms and fingers, bones cracking like logs in a fire pit and anger just as hot. He harnessed his fury, taming it like a mad colt, ready to use it for vengeance. But, quite surprisingly, it seemed that the threat was disappearing. His opponent sank to one knee, and Samuel could not believe his eyes.

He kept the spell on his lips, just in case the old man was planning to trick him into a false sense of security. He crept forward slowly, wanting to look his opponent in the eyes before destroying him. After such a hard-earned battle, he deserved at least that much.

"Had enough?" he taunted, waiting to hear a response. Just a single word, or even a disgruntled breath, would tell him everything he needed to know about the old man's health.

But Matthias hardly moved. He hunched over with both hands firmly planted on the ground for support. Samuel inched closer, respecting the nagging feeling in the back of his mind that all was not as it seemed. It felt too easy. Then again, the wizard remained motionless, his head hanging limply.

At least, it had been just a moment ago. In one quick motion, the old man looked up and peered into Samuel's eyes. The Gnostic took two steps back, realizing that he was just being jumpy.

The old man was in no condition to fight back. He grasped his staff with both hands and dragged himself to his feet. "Aye," was his salty response. "This body ain't what it used to be."

Samuel stood triumphantly, ready to strut toward his victory. Only moments ago, he was considering retreat, but now success was at hand! He refrained from being too sure too soon, but it was clear based on the old man's body language that the battle was over. Samuel had won, and now it was time to put the wizard out of his misery.

"So, tell me your trick." he pressed. "What kind of exotic power aided your spellcasting?"

Matthias turned his head and spit out a mouthful of blood. His face was pale and gaunt, a sign that he had gone through his manna and was drawing from spirit as well. That would have caused any other wizard to burn out many times over. Matthias should not have even been able to stand.

Nevertheless, his response was cocky and carefree. "Nothing but good old fashioned fortitude, I'm afraid."

Samuel scowled. If this arrogant wizard wanted to take his secret to the grave, then so be it. Even so, Samuel had more honor than to slaughter his opponent right away. First, he wanted to give credit where credit was due.

"You put up a heroic fight," he praised. "It's a rare opportunity for me to hone my skills with a marksman of my own caliber. It's a shame that it ends here for you."

The gray wizard took a deep breath as he looked to the distance beyond Samuel's shoulder. The Gnostic Knight turned his head, wondering what could have caught the old man's eye. It was an airship, slowly making its way across the horizon. Matthias smiled, and then Samuel knew. He gritted his teeth, knowing full well who was on that ship. His brother was up there, sneering at him as he escaped with the Pisces Stone.

"No!" Samuel cursed.

"That's right." Matthias spoke loud and clear. "Now, it ends here. For _both_ of us."

Samuel faced his adversary, curious about this new bluff. Surely the wizard would not attempt another spell in his sorry state.

But he was wrong. Words of an old language echoed in the air—arcane magic that even Samuel did not recognize. He took a few steps back, fearing what the gray wizard might summon, yet skeptical that his shriveled old body possessed the strength for another complex incantation. The human body could only withstand so much. It was not possible to ask for more!

At last, the old man's eyes went wide. He screamed as a series of fissures spread across his skin, revealing a core of magical power underneath. Samuel sensed more raw energy than he had ever experienced before. Not even the sunstones came close! Something terrible flowed beneath the old man's skin, ready to burst forth. Samuel turned to run, but he barely went a few paces before the old man's flesh blew to pieces.

A magical sphere of destructive energy sprang forth from the gray wizard's location, consuming everything in its path. Samuel grasped the Sagittarius Stone, ready to cast the necessary spells, but the wave of destruction was already upon him.

In mid-stride, he felt a second distortion in time. This time, it came from the sunstone. A monstrous voice penetrated his mind. " _Summon me, you fool! Or death awaits!_ "

Already, he felt the heat of the blast, singing his back. In moments, it would burn him to a crisp. Though time crept at a miniscule pace, even that was not enough to save him. He had no chance to outrun this—the old man's final vengeance.

His only hope was the Ahriman, who beckoned him urgently. There was no other alternative. It was either die by the flame of arcane magic or risk possession by the Ahriman. And Samuel had no time to decide.

He took the risk, opening his heart to Belial and willing himself to become one.


	32. Chapter 9, Part XVI

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* * *

 **Part XVI**

 _A Few Moments Earlier ... Terminus, Fourth Day of Duskmoon_

* * *

Madeline braced herself for another long and sleepless night.

After helping Bram Morrison and his friends to leave Kish, she had turned herself in to Jeremiah for judgment. The elder cleric was just as angry and disappointed as she expected, but not all that surprised. It was as if he had already suspected her involvement but lacked the proof to prosecute.

Of course, now he had her confession in writing. Madeline had intended it as an olive branch to put an end to the witch hunts and internal bickering and restore order to the Circle of Eight. By bringing new facts to the table, Madeline hoped to refocus the clerics on addressing the threat of the Ahrimen. Unfortunately, Jeremiah did not see it that way. Instead, he seized his opportunity for retribution.

He quickly stripped her of her titles and privileges and held her while gathering the magistrates for a quick trial. In Vineta, treason allowed for the death penalty, but to achieve the maximum sentence for someone as beloved as the nation's One Voice, Jeremiah needed to overcome a few barriers.

The clever man did this by leaking a story to the local news publications before the morning press. It stated that Allura had taken ill and would be put on permanent leave. That way, he could go after Madeline without public backlash in support of her former guise and figurehead. Few Vinetans truly knew the woman behind the mask, and getting rid of Allura freed Jeremiah to direct the full might of Vinetan law upon his prisoner.

With the threat of execution bearing down upon her, Madeline listened to her prosecutor's demands. Much to her surprise, Jeremiah provided a lifeline … as long as she adhered to his conditions. His ultimatum demanded that she leave Vineta for good and never take on Allura's form again. And at that point, his motives were clear. Jeremiah did not intend to hurt her. Rather, he wanted to increase his leverage to the point where Madeline had no room to negotiate.

As usual, his tactics were about saving face. If he ended up prosecuting, the trial would be another highly visible scandal, and people would begin to wonder: How could he have worked alongside a traitor for so many years without realizing it? Was it complicity? Or ignorance? He would never be able to rule effectively if his people whispered behind his back. However, by banishing Madeline and removing any trace of Allura, the elder cleric would be able to sweep the entire fiasco under the rug.

Madeline detested the idea of enabling his farce, but she hardly had a choice. Jeremiah had always cared much more about the Circle's outward facing reputation than in doing the right thing. He had buried the truth about Maurice Vance, and now history was about to repeat.

Despite all that, Madeline accepted his proposal. Unlike Vance, she had no intention of disappearing from society. She would still work with her former colleagues—at least, those willing to hear her side of the story. And she was sure that some of the clerics would be willing to follow in her footsteps.

Even so, it hurt knowing that she would soon be forced to leave the place of her birth, where she had lived all her life. Vineta was her home, and she adored it with all her heart. For a moment, she questioned whether she had made a mistake in confessing her involvement. Then again, she already had one secret that she had kept for too many years, one whose true harm she had learned the hard way.

If she had chosen to save herself again, she would have needed to hide the truths surrounding Bram Morrison, including the knowledge of Libicocco, the cursed Elfen people, and the fake Capricorn Stone. These things needed to become public knowledge. Before it was too late.

As for Allura … it was easier for Madeline to give up the mask whose only purpose had been to conform to the same patriarchy that she despised. It had made it easier for Madeline to work with certain male colleagues and be taken seriously. But, ironically, by donning Allura's sexy figure and sultry voice, she had made a joke out of her very own struggle.

In the beginning, she had joined the ranks of the clerics to influence change from the inside. She wanted Vineta to be a place where women could be men's equal. But, instead of confronting problems within Vinetan society, Allura helped her to avoid them entirely. And thus, the underlying injustice persisted.

She wished she had done more with the time she had. She had once had brilliant ideas for how to reform the Vinetan government and high aspirations to include more women within the Circle. But, somehow she had lost focus. At some point, she fought for personal recognition among the clerics while forgetting about larger reform.

And now, it was time to say goodbye to her dreams. There was nothing to do but wait for her exile. At least the clerics had provided her with decent lodgings inside a cottage nestled atop a wooded hill. Though the structure was surrounded by magical safeguards, restricted her magic, and monitored her every move, it felt more like a home than a prison. Certainly, it was better than the holding cells in town that contained ruffians and violent criminals. Clearly, someone inside the Circle was looking out for her.

As sunset descended, she sat in a chair by the window, watching the final rays of sunlight. As the sunbeam touched her arm, it reminded her of what she missed about Allura. The spell had once provided her with beautiful porcelain skin, but now it was chapped, wrinkled, and covered with age spots. Her knuckles were gnarled and bony, and her fingers reminded her of tree roots.

Indeed, Madeline now looked her age. She was not ashamed, of course. In the past, she always saw aging as a natural and beautiful process. But now, her heart ached at the many sudden changes to her body. As sunlight disappeared within the folds of her skin, she was reminded of how little time she had left in the world.

She was mid-sniffle when a knock struck the door. She quickly wiped her eyes and answered it. Her exile was still a few days away, and if it were Jeremiah needing a few quick answers, he would have gone ahead and burst right through. However, this polite visitor waited patiently as she straightened up a few things on her way to the door. When she opened it, she could not have been more pleased.

Isaac greeted her on the other side with a scrunched up face that was trying its best to conceal an apology. She was delighted to see her good friend and trusted colleague, but she would need to inform him that he had nothing to feel sorry about. She had chosen her fate and made sure that no evidence would implicate him. The last thing she needed was for her good friend to share in her misery.

Then again, she knew the spectacled cleric too well. Despite backing her up during questioning and adding balance to an already harsh set of inquiries, he was hoping to do more.

Madeline had an idea that she hoped would brighten the mood. "Would you care for some tea?" Isaac appeared hesitant, so she urged again. "It's no bother. I was just about to brew some myself."

The offer seemed to work. Isaac's face softened. "Thank you. That would be lovely."

"Black tea, chamomile, or peppermint?" She readied the teakettle and placed it over the open flame of her fireplace.

Isaac made himself comfortable in a nearby chair. "Peppermint. Please."

Madeline was glad to have the freedom to indulge in this simple pleasure. Cozying up with Isaac was the least she could do. After mixing a few herbs and setting them aside, she joined her friend by the fireplace.

Isaac shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. "Actually … I came to tell you something."

Madeline felt a small whirlwind stir in her chest. She gave him her full attention.

He took a deep breath. "I've heard about a possible postponement of your exile."

The whirlwind swirled, turning into a shiver that ran up her spine. She wondered what could be behind such a deferment. "I don't understand. Was it Jeremiah's idea?"

The spectacled cleric shook his head. "I don't know. It might be that he found new evidence and wanted to review it further."

Madeline thought for a moment. She supposed it might be good to have more time in Kish before her eventual expulsion. Then again, prolonging the inevitable might be just as bad. She worried that Jeremiah might be trying to limit or attempt to silence her testimony.

"Is there anything more you can tell me?"

Isaac raised his brows apologetically. "I tried to learn more. You know I have good sources. But for whatever reason, Jeremiah is keeping it close to his chest."

Madeline worried that Isaac might be crossing a line, but he reassured her. "Don't worry. We can speak freely. I've taken the right precautions. Nothing from this conversation will be recorded."

Madeline let out a sigh of relief. Isaac was a pro. She rarely needed to worry too much when it came to him. "Well, whatever the reason, I'm just glad to have your company." The sharp whistle of the teakettle grabbed her attention. "Excuse me."

She rose from her chair to pour the tea, but an intense wave of vertigo overtook her. The room spun, the lights dimmed, and the teakettle warped and became distorted like ripples in a pool of water.

The next thing she knew, Isaac was helping her off the ground. She blinked a few times, trying to get the room back into focus. The teakettle continued to blare, but Isaac ignored it while he helped Madeline back into her chair. Only then did he lift the teakettle from its flame.

Madeline grasped her aching head with both hands. The kettle was now silent, but a high-pitched ringing remained. Her mouth ran dry and felt stuffed with cotton, and her skin prickled up and down her arms. "What happened?" she mumbled.

Isaac's face was equally pale and glistened with sweat. "I don't know," he admitted, "but it's affecting me, too."

"It's the Zohar," she hypothesized. "I think … I think there's been a disruption."

Her lips trembled. Even though the cottage had been surrounded by powerful anti-magic fields, she had always felt her magic close by. But now, her senses were all dulled. The ecstasy on which she had depended all her life for comfort and happiness was gone, replaced by waves of dread. For wizards, losing one's magic was as good as death, especially one as old as she. Tears formed in her eyes.

"Wait …." Isaac reached out with his hand, as if struggling to summon his own magic. The teakettle rested only a few spans away on a small table, but the cleric looked like he was trying to lift it. His fingers curled into a fist, and his face turned beet red. He was clearly using every ounce of concentration he had.

At last, the object shook. And after a moment more, it floated a small amount above the table. Pleased with his work, the spectacled cleric finally relaxed and collapsed into the nearby chair.

He wiped away beads of sweat on his brow with the back of his hand. "It appears as if the disruption was only temporary."

Madeline took a few moments to collect herself before rising from her chair and heading to the window. Outside, a strange light lit up the southern sky, clearly different from the setting sun to the west. Isaac joined at her side.

He leaned over while adjusting his spectacles. "Now what is _that_ supposed to be?"

Madeline shook her head. "I don't know … but I fear the worst."

Her friend gave her a sideways glance. "You think it has something to do with Sir Morrison and the Ahrimen?"

She clutched his shoulder. Somehow, it felt reassuring. "I have no doubt the two are related. Something powerful has disrupted the Zohar, and that light is the afterglow. This is a bad sign."

Madeline groaned. Once again, her knees felt weak. Fortunately, Isaac responded quickly this time, catching her in his arms as her legs gave way.

"Another disruption?" he asked.

She wanted to respond, but her body would not listen. This was not a disruption of the Zohar. It was something much different … a premonition!

A deluge of earth and water burst through the trees, uprooting everything in its path. Nothing could stop it. A feeling of helplessness as a wall of black sludge reached Kish, destroying homes and lives in the process. People were buried. Screams echoed throughout. Isaac was shaking her ….

"Madeline, wake up!"

A single word escaped her lips. "Danger …."

He picked her up and carried her to the bed on the other side of the cottage. Once she was in a lying position, the feeling passed.

"You started convulsing," he explained. "Are you alright?"

"I had a vision," she responded weakly. She tried her best to speak, but her body was listless and unresponsive. "Something … massive has fallen into the ocean … just off shore. A wave … a _gigantic_ wave … is heading toward the village."

Isaac gasped. "A tsunami …? Dear Zohar!" He grasped her hands tenderly. "Rest for a while, Madeline. I'll alert the other clerics."

He did not even give her a chance to respond. He dashed out of the cottage before she was able to utter a word. Stumbling out of bed, she returned to the window. There he was, bolting down the hill while lifting his robes to maximize his stride.

It had been nearly a hundred years since the last tsunami hit Kish. Madeline was well versed in historic dangers due to her time as chairman of the Natural Disaster Protection Committee. These were rare in Kish, but the loss of life had led to walls and levees being built along the coastline. Even so, Madeline was sure they would not be enough. The wave from her vision had been enormous.

Madeline especially worried about the Nexus, which was relatively close to sea level. She thought about all the innocent patients, the students and groundskeepers, and all those who lacked the training in magic to defend themselves. There were families with children who lived near the campus, and she could not bear to see them harmed!

But what she could do? If she violated her confinement order, she would receive the maximum sentence for sure! Jeremiah would be happy to make an example out of her.

At the same time, she could never allow harm to come to the people of Kish. The wave of destruction would arrive in less than fifteen minutes. Isaac's warning would help, but it would not be enough!

The spells surrounding Madeline's cottage were enough to hold back most wizards, but she was better than other wizards. She knew the right spells to take down anti-magic fields, and she knew how to cast them from the inside. Magic was not just an art to her. It was the very life blood running through her veins.

Getting outside was child's play. As she left the cottage behind, she observed the southern sky. The afterglow was intensifying, a sign that something immensely powerful had been cast. Whatever it was, she knew that bad things— _terrible_ things—would follow. This was just the beginning.

* * *

 **End of Chapter 9**

 _Thank you so much for making it this far in my story. It would mean a lot to me to receive a review from you. Thank you._

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	33. Chapter 10, Part I

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* * *

 **Chapter 10: The Sunken City**

* * *

 **Part I**

 _Night of Terminus, Fourth Day of Duskmoon_

* * *

Sirens blared as Madeline hastened through the twilit woods. Her home was under attack. Not by a foreign army, but by a flood of such incredible size and force that it threatened to wipe out everything in its path.

The citizens of Kish were rightly panicked. The bellowing alarms must have been frightening in the early hours of night, when parents were tucking their children into bed. The clerics had protected the city for so many years that people had grown complacent. The old evacuation drills had not been done in more than a generation. Instead of orderly marches to higher ground, there was chaos and confusion.

Madeline tried her best to weave through the crowds of people, many of whom used both hands to haul piles of prized possessions. Men shouldered large trunks and tugged at oversized burlap sacks, while their wives directed screaming children by the hand. The scene was heartbreaking. Madeline's neighbors and cherished friends were abandoning the very homes they had lived in for generations.

Ignoring pangs of empathy, she headed to the place where she could be of greatest use. Scores of sick and enfeebled patients were still anchored to their hospital beds in the Nexus. As a cleric, she had pledged herself to their safety. But, though her magic was great, she alone could not stand against the wall of sludge and debris that would soon sweep across her village. Madeline cringed at the thought of homes being destroyed and people being bludgeoned to death by tons of mud and seawater. She hoped they would all make it to safety in time.

She reached the Nexus to find two enormous spotlights shining on the entrance. It was a beacon in the night, perfect for those who had lost their way. The building was the best place to consolidate elderly citizens, the disabled, and expecting mothers who lacked the means or stamina to hike to a safe location.

In the main courtyard were Aaron and Matthew, the two youngest clerics. They were still neophytes, having served in the Circle of Eight for less than ten years. They tried their best to maintain order as they marshaled hundreds of wandering evacuees into the building. When Aaron made eye contact with Madeline, he glared with crossed brows.

"You shouldn't be here!" he yelled.

She figured she might run into some resistance with Aaron. He was always a stickler for following the rules. However, before she could say anything, Matthew stepped in to defend her. "She's here to help. Isn't that right, Madeline?"

"Yes, of course," she responded, still short of breath from running. "I would not have … left my confinement … for any other reason."

Matthew was the youngest cleric, only forty-five years, but fortunately he held a fair amount of influence over his closest peer.

"I'm not about to turn down help at a time like this," he argued. "If you'd like to do so, Aaron, it'll be on your conscience!"

After a moment of hesitation, the other cleric backed down, and Matthew swept in to welcome Madeline's assistance. She was grateful, always knowing that Matthew had a kind heart. He was always slow to judge, even when his peers jumped to conclusions. She only hoped his healthy spirit would help him against the upcoming threat.

A thunderous roar erupted in the distance. Madeline covered her ears instinctively.

The evacuees went mute, and a hundred sets of ears suddenly turned their attention to the dark recesses of the forest. Somewhere deep within its eerie silence was the sound of gigantic centuries-old trees snapping like twigs. Madeline's heart stood still as she imagined the incredible damage that the wave must be wreaking to her beloved village. How long until it arrived …?

A pair of figures emerged from the woods, startling her with their presence. One was Isaac, while the other was a woman who had just given birth. She struggled to walk, but Isaac did his best to support her while carrying the newborn in his other arm. Aaron and Matthew rushed over to usher the pair inside.

"Quickly, Madeline. Prepare a barrier!" Matthew urged.

She was already summoning the words. The crushing sound of the tsunami was so much closer now. It sounded like a landslide. So many people still crowded around the courtyard. There was no time to get them all inside. She would need to divert the water before it reached the perimeter.

A shimmering field soon appeared along the edges of the forest. She added a chain enchantment as well, which allowed other wizards to add their powers and improve the shield's strength. She was the eldest cleric in the area, so the leadership role rested on her. Even so, she would need others to join if she was to be successful.

"Isaac, Aaron, Matthew … I need you _now!_ " she yelled.

She hardly finished the sentence when a mountain of silt and sediment burst forth from the forest boundary. Isaac and the others dashed to her side just in time to add their magic. Even so, the sheer force of the backlash nearly toppled them all over. Gobs of mud and clay, branches and brush, and even uprooted tree trunks stampeded toward them. The weight was too much for four wizards to bear!

But Madeline gritted her teeth, planted her feet, and put every ounce of strength toward her barrier. The large width of the courtyard made it difficult. It was too much area to cover. While the mountain of sludge had slowed, it was still slowly making its way closer. Men and women screamed as they ran into the hospital, but even the Nexus would not protect them if the weight of the tsunami toppled the building's foundation.

Madeline's strength waned quickly. Her focus was already pushed to its limit, and her manna reserves were running dry. Soon, her concentration would break. She would not be able to last much longer ….

At last, her dread was replaced with relief, when out of the sludge, a new group of wizards emerged. They had created a tunnel of air, and leading them was none other than Jeremiah. The elder cleric joined Madeline's chain along with the rest of the clerics. He grabbed her hand to signal his solidarity.

"We're here to help," he stated calmly. "You may let go, Madeline."

The former One Voice relinquished ownership of the chain and handed it off to her counterpart.

"Thank you," he commended before turning his attention to the wave. "You've done well."

The praise was unnatural, coming from him. She almost wondered if she had imagined it. Her body was weak from overdrawing her manna, and she felt faint. Her head was airy, and her footing wavered. Slowly, she glided backward. She felt someone catch her just before she hit the ground, but the rest was a blank.

* * *

~...~

* * *

Somewhat later, Madeline stirred inside a hospital bed, her body made conscious from the wailing and moans of the injured. A ray of morning sunshine blinded her. Groaning, she blinked a few times and realized that she had ended up in one of the Nexus' intensive care units. Nurses and aides scurried about in a vain attempt to provide care to droves of bedridden patients on either side.

The former One Voice thought back to the previous evening. The raging tsunami was just as mighty as her vision foretold, and it had taken every ounce of strength to hold it at bay. Her very bones rattled with the memory of a wall of sludge colliding with her magical barrier. Everything was sore, and the rest of the night was a blur. She tried to sit up, but her body was unresponsive.

"Blessed Zohar … _you're awake!_ " an enthusiastic voice cried out in the distance.

Isaac dashed over from across the room, weaving in and out between the swarms of caregivers. His watery eyes brimmed with joy as he clasped his hands around hers.

"I was worried," he explained. "You had drawn so much from spirit that I thought you had burnt out."

Fearing the loss of her magic, Madeline cast the first spell that came to mind, just to reassure herself that her beloved art was still there. A tiny purple flame danced around the hospital bed, restoring a smile to her face. The flow of energy was slightly weaker than usual, but that was not too surprising, given her weakened physical state.

She wanted to ask Isaac about the previous night, but her throat was dry and her voice raspy. Isaac reached for a nearby glass, which was full of cloudy liquid.

Nevertheless, he handed it to her. "Sorry about the color. The cisterns are flooded, so this is from one of the pools outside. I've made sure it's clean of disease, but the appearance is still a little muddy."

She took a long drink, grateful to coat her throat. She let out a deep sigh. "Thank you, Isaac. I can't tell you how thankful I am to see the Nexus unharmed. I was so afraid that our magic wouldn't be enough. Had we failed … so many lives …."

She stopped mid-sentence at Isaac's anguished expression. He winced as if she had just told him that his best friend had died. It suddenly occurred to her that the rest of the village would not have fared so well. Her magic certainly did not extend much beyond the hospital courtyard. She felt a sudden urge to look outside.

"Isaac, help me out of bed," she demanded after throwing off the overly starched hospital bedsheets.

Her spectacled friend almost stumbled as he tried to pull them back up. "N—no, I think you need more rest."

"Isaac, please!" she insisted, slapping his knuckles.

The cleric backed away, looking injured, then approached again with an outstretched hand. His stiff body language spoke louder than his voice ever could. When Madeline finally took his hand, he gently helped her out of bed and into a standing position. Offering his shoulder for support, he led her to the window.

Madeline was quite familiar with the southern view from the Nexus. She expected to see rows of orange trees, which were in bloom this time of year, capable of blanketing the town in sweet aromas. Further on, an ivy-covered embankment should have led to a sparkling stream that ran all the way to the shoreline. On both sides were beautiful wooden dwellings with daisies along the stoops and gardens full of orchids and passionfruit whose intensely colored blooms came from countless generations of breeding ….

She could have gone on. The beauty of Kish was vividly imprinted on her mind. But, sadly, this was not what she saw when she looked outside the window. Instead, there were only banks of mud and debris for as far as the eye could see. No houses or structures remained. A few sides of buildings and portions of rooves jutted up from the mud alongside roots and branches from centuries-old conifers. Everything was coated with the same clay-colored crust. There was nothing left of her precious city.

In that moment, a part of her soul shriveled and died. Everything she had ever known had been obliterated. A pitiful squeal escaped her chest as her heart was crushed. If Isaac had not been there to steady her, she would have collapsed in a heap of tears.

The grief could not be described with mere words. Not even Isaac's firm embrace provided comfort. For centuries, Kish had endured while wars and conflict decimated neighboring countries. Yet now, all the beauty and wonder had vanished overnight. No one would ever be able to experience its brilliance again.

A hand landed on her shoulder, one she realized had not come from Isaac. In fact, her friend shimmied aside to make room for another gentleman in white robes. Jeremiah was the last man she wanted to see in her moment of despair. Even his face brought her agony.

"We need to speak," he said succinctly. "In private."

Her mood darkened instantly. "How dare you show your face to me now? Can't you leave me alone? Do you think your politics means anything to me now?"

His voice dropped down low. "Madeline, please … don't make a scene."

"Or what?" she challenged. "You'll exile me from the ICU, too?"

The white-bearded cleric turned away with a huff, but Isaac stepped in to intervene. "Madeline … I know it's not the right time. It might never be the right time. But I think you should hear what he has to say."

She glared at her supposed ally. Isaac rarely stood up in Jeremiah's defense, and he would have no reason except to offer good advice. Perhaps the old bastard truly had something worthwhile to say.

Even so, it was a vulnerable time for Madeline. After suffering through Jeremiah's wrath the day before, her heart was now heavy with sorrow … and the grief was slowly turning into anger. She had too many words bottled up from years of abuse to listen to her adversary pontificate. She would never keep her mouth shut without a level-headed advocate at her side.

"Isaac comes with me," she demanded.

Jeremiah denied her request. "I'm sorry, Madeline, but he's already heard most of what I'm about to tell you. Besides, some of it needs to stay between us."

She was caught off guard by this calmer and less confrontational cleric. Jeremiah's eyes were distant, almost repentant. Even so, she felt nothing but ire for him. And if he dared to negotiate or demand anything from her, she would unleash her fury. There was nothing left for her to lose.

"Fine. Let's get this over with," she answered coldly.

He gave her a few minutes to change out of her hospital gown and then led her down the hall to a near-empty office. It had once belonged to a resident physician, who was apparently among the missing. A couple of chairs remained in the corner, but the rest of the furniture had been cleared out. Jeremiah offered her a seat first, which was awfully uncharacteristic. She wondered what in the Burning Pits was going on with him.

The elder cleric spoke. "Madeline, I must apologize. The last twenty-four hours must have been unbearable for you."

She regarded him crossly. "You're damned right it was! You humiliated me … treated me like a criminal … and questioned me for many merciless hours. You had better have a good explanation for the sudden change of heart. What's this all about?"

Jeremiah winced as if pricked by her words. "Yes … to everything you said. I was angry. I felt like you had made a fool of our institution and all that we've worked so hard to achieve. So of course I reacted … out of fear … and spite. However, I've come to realize … that I've judged too harshly."

The confession was music to Madeline's ears, but she could not believe it. It was impossible for someone to change their mind so dramatically in so short a time.

"When did this happen?" she blurted, now wondering whether she had remained in confinement all day while news of her innocence was circulating within the Circle. Her anger grew.

"We were learning more throughout the day," Jeremiah responded. "Isaac told you about how your exile was postponed, did he not?"

Madeline clenched her teeth. "Damn it, Jeremiah! Did you send him? Did you send Isaac to spy on me?"

She had no idea what was going on, but the idea that Jeremiah had used her friend against her cut to the very core of her anger, and she was now only a hair's width away from unleashing it.

"I did nothing of the sort," Jeremiah claimed. "Just listen to what I have to say."

Madeline held her tongue, instead using her body language to communicate her displeasure. Her crossed arms and hardened glare spoke louder than her voice could have.

Jeremiah shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Look … I suspected you were helping Sir Morrison fairly early on, so I started watching you. You've been a loyal cleric for many years, Madeline, so I never figured anything malicious. Rather, my doubts had to do with Sir Morrison and his ability to influence you."

Madeline scoffed. "And what did you think? That he would mislead me with sweet-talk and seduce me like a young maiden?"

Jeremiah's response was half-grunt and half-chuckle. "Perhaps not seduce, but he did admit to seeking the Capricorn Stone for himself, did he not? And he also confessed to wanting to use it to barter with Samuel Cortez."

Madeline gritted her teeth. "Obviously, I had no idea about those plans, but I had figured that Sir Morrison might have been compromised. His sudden appearance and desire to help was suspicious from the start. Even so, I sent him to Garda because he was still the best option for going after Arcesilaus. It was a calculated move with limited downsides, since the sunstone was fake—"

She caught herself but not before Jeremiah seized on the slip.

"Exactly my point!" His voice was elevated. "Imagine you were me, and you learned that Sir Morrison had escaped with the Capricorn Stone and was about to use it to barter with the enemy. Not only was I shocked by your betrayal, but then you came back hours later to confess your relationship with Maurice Vance, and I learned that our Capricorn Stone had already been lost thirty years earlier. To think that you had kept it secret all that time … _that_ was the true betrayal, Madeline. Your secret endangered the entire world, not just the Circle of Eight."

Madeline opened her mouth but could not think of a good rebuttal. Her defense that Jeremiah had created a hostile environment for her to speak the truth sounded woefully inadequate. She had acted selfishly to avoid punishment, which ranked just as bad as her colleague's choice to shut down the follow-up investigation and cover up the scandal.

He looked at her as if reading her mind. "Ah, yes. You must realize by now why I've acted so capriciously. Had you come forward with the truth about Vance thirty years ago, I would have been guilty of incompetence for shutting down the investigation. In the end, my failure enabled your lie. So we're both guilty of poor judgment."

She was unmoved. She kept her arms crossed and her stare hardened. "So what? So we both failed at our jobs as clerics. Why does that make any difference to you now? I still helped Sir Morrison against your wishes. And I don't regret it!"

She felt bold enough to remain confrontational, despite Jeremiah's softer stance. It was difficult to do otherwise. Kish was destroyed, and her heart was broken. She needed someone to be angry at to hold back the tears.

As for Jeremiah, his expression hardly changed at all. All she noticed was a tightening of his lips, as if he were also fighting against grief.

"What changed were my assumptions on Sir Morrison," he explained in a low voice. "I had my own ideas about the Knight, which I think colored my opinion of him. He was a former Gnostic, after all." The elder cleric sighed. "But, perhaps I should have kept more of an open mind. Like you did."

Madeline leaned back. She was not used to this humanized side of Jeremiah. It was almost like speaking with another person.

He continued. "I watched as he faced off against Samuel Cortez, who happens to be his brother, by the way."

Madeline gasped. She had no idea.

"He also battled against one of the Ahrimen … Libicocco … and emerged victorious."

A small part of Madeline cheered for Bram. That he had triumphed over an immortal demon was nothing short of miraculous! She might have even felt elated, too, if her body were not suffering from so much grief, confusion, and anger. It was too much for even a seasoned wizardress to process.

"After watching Sir Morrison's adventure, I began to realize why you trusted him. And I changed my opinion of what it meant to give him aid. At some point, I summoned the other clerics and told them to postpone your sentence. I knew Isaac would probably go and tell you about it. I just didn't want it coming from me."

Madeline paused. It was a lot to process. There was something touching about Jeremiah's change of heart, but also something unsettling about it, too. She could not put her finger on it, but his explanation lacked closure, or even a satisfying reason why he would have insisted on a private disclosure. But she was tired, and the room was growing stuffy and uncomfortable.

"Thank you," she stated, though her voice lacked the strength to make it sound sincere.

She was emotionally bankrupt and needed more time to sort through her many losses. Jeremiah had stolen her morning, which she could have used for grieving. Though his report held much interest, nothing he said would change anything moving forward. Her mistakes were in the past, and Bram's journey was of little consequence to her now. What mattered most was saving the little that remained of Kish. She was eager to leave this empty office and search for something more constructive, such as tend to the injured.

"Are we finished?" she asked.

Jeremiah's eyes went wide and his jaw went slack. "No, we're not 'finished'! We're in a level five crisis, Madeline. Hundreds are dead or missing, thousands are in need of urgent care, and tens of thousands are refugees preparing for a march to the capital. We lack even the most basic resources to care for any of them, and I _need_ someone like you to be here. I can't do it without you!"

Madeline felt her dark mood return. Jeremiah's response was an insult, suggesting that she needed a reminder of her people's woes. But the truth was that the suffering of Kish had never once left her mind! To make matters worse, the elder cleric implied that he needed her back under his control. Clearly, he was mistaken. She would never allow that again.

He needed to know how she felt. "You should know, Jeremiah, that I've given you and the Circle everything I have. This institution meant everything to me … and yet you persecuted me out of spite. Those were your own words, and I'll never let you forget them."

Her heart stirred. All she could picture in her mind's eye were the banks of mud and silt where her neighbors' houses used to be. "As for what remains of Kish … I'll not abandon it, even if a single man or woman is still alive. But it won't be through the clerics. This time … I'll be on my own."

The elder cleric raised his hands. "Just hold on, Madeline. There's more I need to tell you." He moistened his lips, as if searching for the right way to tell his story, but she was running out of patience.

She made to rise from her seat, which was enough to spur the elder cleric to spit out his story. "After Isaac, Matthew, and Aaron left the laboratory, I continued watching Sir Morrison's escape from his brother's airbase. Noah, Jacob, and Simon were with me. And that's when something … something inexplicable happened."

Madeline eyed him skeptically. "Well, then, what was it?"

"It was Matthias." Jeremiah actually sounded choked up. "He's … he's dead."

Madeline's hand went to her chest, where her poor injured heart—which was already so battered and bruised—received yet another shock. Though by now, the blow felt rather blunt by comparison. "Holy Zohar, what happened?"

Half of Jeremiah's mouth upturned in a smirk, while the other half made him look like he was suffering. "Funny you should mention that, Madeline. Because the Zohar is exactly what's at stake here."

She did not appreciate the levity, but then it occurred to her. "The explosion in the sky. From last night! You felt it, too, didn't you?"

Jeremiah nodded. "We all did. It came from Master Deleuze as he faced off against Samuel Cortez. He used … Apocalypsis."

Madeline's breath was stolen. First the Ahrimen, and then the ultimate spell of black magic? She could barely respond. "But … that's impossible! How could he?"

Jeremiah's shoulders slumped. "We don't know, but Jacob and Noah are convinced. Somehow, Matthias found a way. And in the instant he cast it, it was as if we were all struck by a bolt of lightning. Later, when we clawed ourselves up from the floor, we ran a few tests and confirmed it: the integrity of the Zohar has been compromised."

Madeline shivered. She had worried about this, but now it was confirmed. It felt like the temperature in the room had dropped by several degrees.

"So, what do you say?" he offered. "The need for unity among the clerics has never been stronger. We need you, Madeline."

Indeed, a compromised Zohar changed many things. But one thing it did not change was Madeline's resolve to separate herself from her former colleague. She saw the way he studied her, and she suspected he was using flattery as a tool to convince her. But she was wise enough to realize that nothing would ever change under Jeremiah's rule.

"Of all the insincere tactics," she accused. "You didn't seek me this morning to apologize … or to clear the air between us." She was fuming. "You just want to bring me back under your control. But let me make one thing clear, Jeremiah: I'll never work for you again. You had your chance, and you blew it!"

The old cleric looked at her pleadingly. "You can hate me later, Madeline, but—"

"I'll hate you now!" The words she had bottled up for so long finally came out. She could no longer hold them back. "I've always hated you! You're a bully, and you manipulate people to get what you want."

She had more. Tears welled in her eyes as she unleashed. "I worked my whole life to become One Voice, but you treated the position like a joke! We could have collaborated and done wonderful things for the Circle. But you always held me back."

The words kept coming. This was her chance to finally tell this man exactly how she felt! "Oh, I care for the Zohar. I've _always_ cared. But this time, I'll find the cure in my own way. Not as a workhorse … one for you to abuse while you take all the credit for my work! No … this time you're on your own."

She would have gone further, but she was already out of breath. Her sobs came in and out as shallow breaths, her face was flushed, and tears rolled down her cheeks. She tried to hide her expression in her hand, but she could not deny that she was a mess.

Of course, the Jeremiah she knew would have never stood for such a tirade. He would have hardened his heart and coldly defended his honor. But not this Jeremiah. This Jeremiah looked downcast and despondent. Madeline wondered if she had finally penetrated his thick defenses.

In the end, he merely nodded. "You're right," he admitted. "I deserved that. So many times in the past, I've taken you for granted. But not anymore. You should know that … that I've … decided to resign."

Madeline was blindsided. She glared at her former colleague. "What?"

His voice became practically listless. "Madeline, I … I'm dying."

It felt as though the floor had dropped from under her. "What are you talking about?"

The old cleric leaned back in his chair with both hands on his temples. "It's late-stage cancer, Madeline. Isaac's treatments have held it at bay, but it requires all of the strongest spells available. It was once all over my body. And now that the Zohar has weakened, it's beginning to spread."

Madeline felt her anger fade. Jeremiah's admission changed everything. "How long do you have?"

He shrugged. "It depends on how quickly the Zohar degrades. But, based on the current rate, Isaac figures about a week."

Madeline's eyes went wide. "How long has … I mean, how long have you been working with Isaac on treatment."

The elder cleric gave her a sideways glance. "Doctor-patient privilege, Madeline. I asked him to keep it a secret, and he's been loyal to his pledge."

Madeline felt embarrassed. Indeed, she could hardly blame Isaac for honoring his most sacred vow as a physician.

"Why are you telling me this?" she asked, now quite fatigued by this emotional whirlwind.

Jeremiah leaned forward. "The Circle needs a leader, Madeline. The others are mostly researchers. They wouldn't be cut out to direct the work that needs to get done. Only you are the most qualified."

The words hit her like a club. Jeremiah was not asking her to return to the Circle under his rule. He was asking her to take his place! But … the request was so sudden and unexpected. And it unleashed a certain excitement in Madeline that she thought had long since been extinguished.

The elder cleric raised his brows. "But … you have to _want_ the job—"

"I do want the job," Madeline interjected. "I just didn't want to work under you."

His belly rolled with suppressed laughter. That he could manage in his state was incredible. She certainly found nothing funny about it. He even cracked a smile. "Well, fortunately for you, I won't be around for much longer."

A sudden wave of guilt struck her. "I didn't mean that. I've never wanted you dead."

He grunted and rolled his eyes. "It doesn't matter, even if you did. I'd still turn to you, since you're the best I have."

Madeline felt her heart soften. These platitudes seemed more genuine in light of Jeremiah's condition. It was more than empty flattery if he truly did appreciate her skills.

He looked as if he had never been more serious. "The real question is whether you're ready to manage six of the world's best wizards, Madeline. Because if you want to step up, you'll need to know a few things."

He leaned forward, eyes tunneling right through her. "You might be friends with some of them, my dear, but others won't follow you until you've earned their respect. Ever try herding sheep? Try herding a group of academics. The sheep are much easier!"

Madeline knew what he was getting at, but she had worked alongside the other clerics for many years. She already had a good idea of what motivated them and how to approach them differently. She would be just as effective of a leader, even without the shrewdness and intimidation that had made Jeremiah famous.

"I have the necessary skills," she asserted, feeling more confident. "Let's just talk about what needs to get done."

Jeremiah smirked. "We have a long list. First, as our expert in arcane magic, Noah is most qualified to search for a cure for the damaged Zohar. However, he tends to get a bit … distracted, sometimes. You'll need to be hands on and direct his investigation."

Madeline understood all too well. Fixing the Zohar was top priority. Magic would continue to degrade for as long as it was damaged, and at some point, even life itself would be at risk.

"You might also want to work with Jacob and Simon to open a communications window to Minoa," he suggested. "I know it will be difficult with the resources we have, but I think it's necessary."

Madeline was taken aback. "Minoa?" The clerics had always been at bitter odds with the Gaians due to religious differences, and their two nations had not spoken in decades. However, there was one man there who was of particular interest. "You intend to speak with Christian, don't you?"

Jeremiah nodded. "Aye, and I suspect Sir Morrison will attempt to contact him, too. After all, Christian was one of Vance's apprentices, and Bram knows that. Besides, there are other matters we need to discuss. Ones which are long overdue."

Madeline agreed. She could hardly believe that she did. "Very well. I'll get started."

In the span of a few minutes, all the pain and misery of losing her home had transformed into hope for the future. It seemed that she would be able to cope, as long as she could focus on something bigger than what she had lost. Jeremiah had given her that opportunity, since the Zohar needed to function for the sake of the entire world. She could never pass up something like that.

It was time to wrap things up. "Is there anything else you'd like to tell me?"

Jeremiah shook his head. "I have nothing left to add. Our future is now with you, Madeline."

She shook her head. He was wrong. "Nonsense. We'll have the Zohar repaired before your cancer metastasizes. You won't need to worry."

She believed it, too. Her former colleague smiled. Though there was nothing patronizing or condescending about it, she could tell he was skeptical. She would just need to prove him wrong.


	34. Chapter 10, Part II

**.**

* * *

 **Part II**

 _Morning of Somnus, Fifth Day of Duskmoon_

* * *

Bram woke feeling jittery and anxious. He had stayed up late, avoiding sleep because his memories of death and demons aboard the _Zounds_ airship were still too vivid. He feared what nightmares they would bring, but weariness and exhaustion eventually caught up to him. Shortly after midnight, he had found his bed and collapsed.

Now, a soft reddish glow emerged through the cabin window. Morning had arrived, and his mind was refreshed. But along with clarity, his woes returned. He wanted to sink into his mattress and disappear for a very long time. Of course, he knew that hiding in his bedsheets would not stop the many questions begging for answers in his head.

He could barely think straight. He could barely breathe, in fact. Some invisible gas inside his tiny cabin had made the air thick and sticky. He choked on every mouthful and needed to go someplace where the walls were not closing in!

He flung open the shutters and gulped down some much needed air. A cool and refreshing breeze drew him out of bed. As his feet touched the floor, he realized the _Heron_ was swaying. The ship must have landed in its sea-faring mode, and by the time Bram dressed and arrived on deck, he confirmed it.

Along port side were waves of endless blue, while on starboard he saw the outline of a barrier reef. Schools of fish swam peacefully, releasing some of Bram's tense muscles as he watched. Past the reef were craggy rock formations jutting up from the sea floor, while a larger landmass lingered in the distance.

It seemed that clever Cedric had deployed the _Heron's_ sailing mechanism as a way of hiding in plain sight. Not all airships functioned in water, but the _Heron_ was one of the few. Anyone watching from a distance would mistake it for an oversized schooner or brig, which was quite useful in avoiding the watchful eyes of his enemies.

Bram knew that Lord Zagan still lurked in the darkness, perhaps under the guise of Virgil Garvey. And so did Angkor's armies, Kish's clerics, and many others who wanted Bram dead or captured. Though Samuel was defeated, the truly difficult part of Bram's journey had just begun.

He checked the ship's logs, which confirmed that Cedric had landed off the coast of Dorestad, a remote island in the middle of the Great Ocean. He also learned that the _Heron's_ fuel levels were dangerously low. Unlike _Zounds_ , which relied on manna, the _Heron_ made use of coal and steam power. This made air travel more convenient in most cases, but it was problematic when friendly industrialized nations were hundreds of leagues away.

Bram doubted he would find any coal nearby. Dorestad was an island full of thick tropical rainforests and the occasional small farm. It was owned by Kahn Daria of the Maldenese Empire, who used it mostly for exports of exotic fruits and spices. It contained no large port cities, nor markets for trading in coal.

Sighing heavily, Bram leaned over the deck while he pondered what to do. Even if he found fuel, he had no coin with which to purchase it. And even if he could fly the _Heron_ anywhere on Gaia, he still had no idea where to go next. All his previous leads ended with _Zounds_. Samuel's sunstone was now ostensibly at the bottom of the ocean along with his corpse, and it would be foolish to go after Virgil with his current strength.

Not to mention that Bram still lacked a way to store a third or fourth sunstone. Just bringing two of them in close proximity made the prisons unstable, and Bram's greatest fear was in releasing the Ahrimen into the world. Worse, just handling the sunstones was dangerous.

Bram had already failed to control Abaddon after handling its sunstone for more than a week. He was now far more wary of Libicocco, especially after witnessing the hideous monster that had burst forth from King Arcesilaus' body. Bram had agreed to take shifts guarding the sunstone with Quon, thus limiting exposure. He even handed it off to the Kenju Master before collapsing into bed.

The contact especially worried him now that he knew the Ahrimen were capable of taking control of his emotions. He had always expected his will would be strong enough to resist their temptations. He thought that becoming a Grigori and walking in the light was just a simple matter of consenting to that path.

But now he realized it was not so simple. His own twin brother had embraced darkness and was willing to do anything to achieve his goals. And Bram's own father might have actually been the mastermind behind those schemes.

At first, Bram resisted the possibility that his brother was truthful about their father. But considering the way Samuel gushed, as if he had utmost pride in being his father's son, there seemed to be no doubt. Bram did not even know the man's name, but his mere existence shattered all the truths he had once relied on: his past, his mother's past, and even his quest for the sunstones.

Bram wanted to know if his father was characteristically evil, and if it meant that he would inherit those traits. Bram's anger and rage aboard _Zounds_ had threatened his very soul, but … was it merely a symptom of something much worse growing inside of him?

So much had accumulated in so short a time. He was heartbroken over the disappointing reunion with Rosa, devastated from his brother's revelations, and reeling from thoughts of vengeance against the childhood friend who had betrayed him. By the time he finally encountered Libicocco, he was a lightning rod in a thunderstorm.

Unbridled fury had lashed out at those responsible for his suffering, and rage invited Abaddon inside. Only Rosa's courage and undying love—a precious gift that Bram squandered more often than not—had saved him from leaving _Zounds_ a slave of the Ahriman. Instead, Rosa bore that curse.

Poor Rosa … she was still in her cabin, lost in timeless sleep. If she even woke at all, Bram did not know if she would be the same person. He knew that Abaddon was fighting for control. If that demon ever won ….

No! Bram banished the thought. It was just too horrible to imagine. The only thing he knew for sure was that he was to blame! He dwelled on the guilt, which twisted his guts and churned at his insides.

The guilt went beyond his cursed loved one. Bram also thought back to Uriana, the child who had captured his heart. It seemed like only yesterday that he held her in his arms and stroked her white wispy hair as she drifted into sleep. But now she was gone, lost to sea, without even a clue of whether she still lived. It was the worst kind of fate, with no place to search, and no way to start looking. Even if she had survived, the world was too big to have any hope of finding her. Bram had to accept that she was gone. Accept it … but never move on.

The precious girl had had her entire life to look forward to, but instead it was cut short. Bram was not the direct cause, but he had kept her too close for too long. He should have left her in Loulan, where she would have been safe. Instead, he tried to take her on a journey across the ocean … a fatal mistake.

The same went for all the others he had failed to protect. He thought of Matthias, the grumpy old wizard who had met his end just as Bram considered him a true friend. And Mica, the friendly young priestess who was Bram's comfort when he needed her most. He could not even begin to honor their sacrifices, when his quest was falling apart all around him. He had no way of finding the remaining sunstones. And no means to even start.

The air had turned sour, and Bram's chest constricted. Wind came out, but he struggled to breathe it back in. He was suffocating, again, and the warm tropical breeze did nothing to help. He was alone, with so many former loved ones now dead, cursed, or missing. Who would be next?

He never noticed the approaching figure until it blocked the warm sunbeam from his back. He turned, expecting to see Quon or Cedric, but instead found a lone woman, who stole his tiny remaining breath.

Rosa … there she stood: awake, radiant, and in normal clothes. She looked refreshed, and her complexion was healthy. All except for a faint discoloring along her cheeks and a slightly crooked nose, signs that reminded him of what he had done to her.

He stung with guilt but also felt relief that she was up and moving about. It was also nice to see a clean white dress in place of filthy prisoner's garb. But, despite the comfort this brought, he had nothing to say but apologies.

He wanted to blurt them all out. He had been horrible to her since the moment they reunited, and he desperately needed her to forgive him. He almost stammered something pitiful, but he was so overcome with the sight of her that the words died on his tongue.

Instead, Rosa broke the silence. "Bram … I know we've been through a lot, but I was hoping we could talk."

His heart sank, convinced that her words portended something grievous. She was about to admit that they could never be together. Anger and hatred had driven them apart, and this would be her final farewell.

"You mean … about us?" He braced himself for her fateful response.

She looked confused. A scarce moment later, she shook her head violently. "No! I mean, look … a lot happened last night. This isn't about you and me, and we'll have plenty of time to talk later. Right now, I want to discuss the sunstones. And your brother … and Kane …."

She trailed off, her eyes pools of regret for having started the conversation on a bad note. Bram felt that he should pick up the slack and fill the silence with something useful.

He wanted to know about her condition, especially if she felt any ill effects. She was awake and in good spirits, which could mean that the curse was gone. Or perhaps there never was a curse. After all, only his betrayer, Kane, had claimed otherwise.

"How are you feeling, Rosa?" He tried to be subtle. "Have you … experienced anything odd?"

She pursed her lips and squinted. "Now that you mention it, I woke up this morning after some strange dreams, only to find my hands clenched around one of the sunstones."

Bram's heart sank. It was not a good sign. But he wondered if the dreams might hold a clue. "What kind of dreams?"

She brushed it off. "I don't even remember. But here's the weird part: I set it on the nightstand, since that damn thing creeps me out. Then a bit later, I noticed I was still holding onto it. I don't even remember picking it up."

Bram's skin crawled. He hardly wanted to jump to conclusions, but if there were ever symptoms of an Ahriman's curse, Rosa described them perfectly! But, otherwise, she seemed perfectly healthy.

"You know more about these things than I do," she went on, "so I wanted to ask if you've ever seen anything like it."

Bram wondered if she recalled anything from the previous night. So he asked her about it.

She opened her mouth as if to respond, then stopped mid-breath. Her body shuddered, and her voice cracked. "Actually, I … I don't remember. Why can't I remember …?"

Her forehead scrunched in concentration. "We were being chased by that monster. It was _horrible_ , like a nightmare. And afterward … well, it's obvious that we escaped, but … I guess I must have blocked it from my memory."

A nervous giggle escaped her lips. "Imagine that, huh?"

Her eyes begged for reassurances, but Bram could not give her any. His expression must have been truly bleak, because hers fell the longer she stared at him.

He wondered how he could even begin to tell her the truth: that a monstrous demon had cursed her, that there was no cure, and in only a matter of time, her soul would be destroyed so that Abaddon could reemerge through her body.

Bram wished he could avoid verbalizing anything, but Rosa deserved the truth. He had to tell her. He tried to make his voice sound soothing and sincere as he described the previous night. Her face grew paler by the moment. It felt like he was force feeding her something putrid and rotten, and he wanted to stop. But he kept on going. It was for her own good.

By the end, she was listless. "You're telling me that whenever a person touches two sunstones at once, they are subject to an Ahriman's curse? That it's only a matter of time before Abaddon takes control of me?"

Cracks of fear formed along her brave façade. "Is there nothing we can do? Nothing at all?"

She sounded frantic, and Bram felt utterly useless. He had no plan, no strategy, and no words of comfort. His ignorance of the Ahrimen and their powers had finally caught up to him. All he knew was what his betrayer had told him, and he hated to think that a liar's claims would be of any use. Still, the look on Rosa's face was crushing. He had to say something.

"Kane mentioned something, but … I wouldn't get our hopes up, Rosie. He's … not well, and I don't think we should trust anything he says at this point."

His lover's eyes went wide. "Kane has an answer? Why didn't you say so? He _can_ be trusted, Bram! You just need to talk to him."

The Knight instantly regretted bringing it up. Rosa clearly had something to prove about Kane, but Bram feared the former Templar had just given her lip service to bolster his bargaining power. Instead, the Knight wanted his betrayer to receive the justice he deserved. He was not willing to let another lie crush Rosa's tiny remaining spirit.

"Forget I even mentioned it!" he ordered. "Kane's a liar, and nothing good will ever come from what he says!"

Rosa's brows crossed. "I can't believe this! You would stubbornly disregard his help at a time like this? I know he's hurt you, Bram, but you haven't even heard what he has to say!"

"Nothing he says will matter!" the Knight roared. He had to put his foot down. Rosa was going down a dangerous path, and he had to cut it short. "What's done is done." He hated raising his voice, but if he did not say something, Rosa's heart was about to get her in trouble.

Then again, perhaps he had been too harsh. She shrank back meekly, and he instantly regretted rebuking her. She did not deserve his anger.

"I'm sorry, Rosie." Bram shrank back from his haunches. "I didn't mean to yell. Just … please listen. Kane isn't the same man I knew. He might appear like he wants to make amends, but he has other motives. Trust me. You just need to accept that some things can't be forgiven."

Bram came to a full stop. He had meant to say that some people could not change, but the phrase came out differently, and it gave Rosa a chance to pounce. With crossed arms she glared. "Some things can't be forgiven, Bram? What about the things that you've done?"

Her words stabbed him just below the ribcage. He knew she was going to bring up his recent string of violence. But surely she knew he had never meant to strike her … it was an accident!

"I'm talking about your life as a Gnostic."

Bram was confused.

"Don't you remember?" she went on. "I was there, at your side during the War."

Now Bram understood. He would have liked to forget his early days as a soldier. Not all days, of course. Some of them had fond memories of fighting alongside Rosa. But many others contained horrible events best left forgotten.

"But, Rosie … that was war—"

She quickly cut off his excuse. "I'm not talking about the lives we took on the battlefield. You and I both know that soldiers have little choice where kings point their swords. I was referring to the civilians."

Bram remembered them, too, of course. He had spent years trying to repress what he had done in those small towns and hamlets at the fringes of battle. But, somehow, fate had a way of intervening. On his way to the Oracle, doppelgangers had looked inside his heart and took the form of past regrets. They appeared just like those he had slaughtered—innocent men and women whose only crime had been to cross the path of a Gnostic Knight. The Oracle had also used Bram's past to challenge him, right before redirecting him toward the path of the Grigori.

"I get your point." Now he was all choked up. A giant lump had formed in his throat. "I can't forgive myself for what I've done. All I can do is learn from the past, bear the pain, and move on."

It felt like Rosa was out to punish him, but all she did was gather close and place her hands on his shoulders. The touch was comforting. "All I ask is that you do the same for Kane. Listen to his story. He was closer to your brother than any other man and has learned a great many things."

Bram felt his knotted muscles unwind. Perhaps Rosa was right. He was so furious with Kane that he was willing to pass judgment too quickly. But that was irrational, especially if Kane had useful information. It was another example of why he needed to keep his emotions in check.

"You're right," he admitted, trying his hardest to own up to his mistakes. "I'll hear what he has to say. And, Rosa … I'm sorry."

The woman he loved attempted to smile, but her expression eventually slid into a halfhearted smirk. "I know you are, Bram."

But did she really? She said it with such levity, making Bram wonder if she truly understood the demons he fought. Not just the Ahrimen, but all the doubts and fears that waged war in his head. Bram also needed to do more to understand Rosa's feelings, but a creaking floorboard announced a new visitor.

All eyes fell on the former Kenju Master of Koba, who bowed and greeted them both cheerfully. "Rosa, you had us all worried. I am quite pleased to see you awake. Blessed be Gaia."

Bram was sure that Rosa would not appreciate a blessing from the Goddess, even one that was well-intentioned. The news about the Ahriman's curse was just too fresh on her mind. Sure enough, she smiled politely and offered her thanks, but she looked like someone trying to ignore a badly stubbed toe.

Apparently sensing this tension, Quon turned his attention to Bram and changed the subject. "I came here to inform you that the prisoner is awake. He has asked to speak with you."

Rosa looked surprised. "Prisoner?"

Before going to bed, Bram had planned for Kane to be interrogated. Of course, after the conversation he just had with Rosa, he expected her to object. He certainly did not want her to think that he had already forgotten his promise. Her ever widening eyes suggested that he had better come up with a good explanation … fast!

"Last night we locked Kane in the cargo holds." Like an idiot he blurted out the answer quickly. He already felt trapped and defensive. "We didn't trust him on his own, Rosie. Not on our ship. Not while we slept."

"It was the right decision," Quon agreed.

Bram appreciated the Kenju's support, but Rosa was still displeased. "Where is he now?"

Quon's answered matter-of-fact. "He is still down there, tied to a chair. As the sun warms the ship, the cargo holds will become stuffy and uncomfortable. I believe this will create an environment that we can use to our advantage when attempting to extract information."

"What?" Rosa was appalled. "You can't do that! Bram, tell him to let Kane out of there. We're not Inquisitors. And we don't need to stoop to barbaric interrogation techniques!"

Bram raised his hands pleadingly. "Hold on, Rosie. Quon knows what he's doing."

She opened her mouth, but Bram raised his hands in a pacifying hand gesture, which gave her pause. "If you're right about him, then Quon will find out, and we won't need to press him further. But, if he's holding back, you need to let us get to the bottom of it."

Rosa scoffed. "Did our conversation just now mean nothing to you, Bram?"

The Knight had figured she might say something like that. His eyes narrowed. "Of course it did. I promised to keep an open mind, but you must do the same. We need to be sure about him."

Rosa bit her lip, clearly wanting to say more. But for whatever reason, she backed down.

Quon cleared his throat, drawing Bram and Rosa out of their argument. "Cedric and I will be down below. When you are ready, please join us at any time."

Bram stepped forward, but Rosa grabbed him by the elbow. He waited for Quon to leave before listening to her whispered request. "Please, Bram … don't do this."

He kindly removed her hand, wondering why she was so overly concerned about the man who had kidnapped and terrorized her. Certainly, she had a soft spot in her heart for most people, but her insistence in this case was troubling.

"Don't worry, Rosie," he promised. "As long as he cooperates, we won't need to hurt him."

She took a deep breath and sighed heavily. Clearly, she was bent on sticking with her principles. But at least she was willing to end the debate. Bram hoped the interrogation would yield something probative. At least then he could prove that his instincts were correct.

Once he arrived in the cargo holds, he saw a set of chairs had been arranged in a semicircle. Kane was seated in the center, with his hands tied behind his chair. Quon and Cedric were also seated and ready to begin. The two remaining chairs were for Bram and Rosa. Sweat oozed from the Knight's pores as he entered the sweltering temperatures, but not nearly as much as the former Templar, whose face glistened.

Beyond perspiration, Kane also displayed other tells. His raised brows and scrunched forehead suggested sadness, while his forlorn eyes indicated regret. His lips were downturned in annoyance, while his overall demeanor was meek and submissive. It was similar to the way he had behaved aboard _Zounds_ —which was far removed from the arrogance that Bram had come to despise about him. Perhaps this newer Kane was more penitent. Then again, perhaps he was just missing the security of Samuel's employ.

"Very well, let us begin," Quon announced loudly to get everyone's attention. Bram and Rosa scrunched forward in their respective seats. "Mister Harding has agreed to answer our questions willingly. If his responses are satisfactory, we will grant him release. If not, then he will remain bonded until we determine appropriate action. Is everyone agreed?"

Bram noticed Rosa's sideways glance. Her eyes pleaded with him to intervene, but he had no such intention. He wanted to know how Kane had managed to gain her unwavering trust, and he was convinced that his questions would yield some satisfying answers.

"I wish to inquire first," he opened.

"Proceed," the Kenju Master permitted.

Bram stood up, eager to expose his childhood friend as the fraud that he was. Kane avoided his gaze, which further fueled Bram's suspicions. "When did you first make contact with my brother?"

Kane's chest rose and fell to rapid breaths. Either he was already suffering from the sweltering heat, or Bram was making quick progress. "I didn't. Samuel contacted me."

Bram sneered. "That wasn't my question. I asked _when._ "

Kane's lips tightened. Bram watched for every tic. Each emotional response could yield clues that he could exploit. There was something behind the Templar's deep blue eyes that teased of untold secrets, and Bram was eager to discover them.

Despite the restraints, Kane sat up straighter and responded accordingly. "It was a couple of months back, before you and I met with King Richard. Samuel had searched me out and found me in Niedam. He introduced himself, explained his relationship with you, and asked for my help."

Quon added his own question. "Would you please describe the proposal? What did he offer in exchange for your loyalty, and why would you agree to betray an old friend?"

Bram was glad to have the Kenju Master engaged. Kane's motives were important, and it seemed that Quon had already struck a nerve.

The former Templar squirmed in his chair, clearly uncomfortable with the question. "He offered to help me … out of a very difficult situation."

Bram could have spotted the subversion tactic a thousand leagues away. Kane was going to say something else, but he modified it at the last moment. He was hiding something!

"What kind of situation?" the Knight demanded, hoping for more clues. "Describe it."

Kane turned his head, his sweat-drenched face melting into a scowl. "It was a criminal offense, and he offered me a pardon. In exchange, I was asked to … to help you with your mission to Ur."

Bram practically laughed. Kane made it sound so simple and quaint, a mission that had resulted in thousands of unjust deaths! Something stirred in Bram's gut. A beast that was the culmination of all his outrage and grief. Bram caged that beast for now, hiding it behind a healthy dose of sarcasm.

"Oh, you helped me, alright. I was lucky to have you around to murder a village of peaceful tribesmen in my honor—men and women who had done nothing to earn Angkor's wrath! How dare you dishonor their lives by making it sound routine? I would have never agreed to go, had I known the true objective. You kept it from me until the very end, when it was too late. What you did was monstrous!"

His hands were shaking. Just thinking of those innocent families—mothers and children whose futures were tragically cut short—made him sick. Wave after wave of disgust threatened to upturn his stomach.

But Kane said nothing. He had no response. He was guilty, and Bram wanted him to admit it in front of everyone. But before he could, Rosa stepped in to defend the murdering son of a bitch!

"Bram, please—"

"Stand back," he growled. "Let him answer for what he's done!"

He turned back to Kane. "Tell them! Tell them how you unleashed the magical box powered by the Ahriman's magic. Explain how it burned the entire valley and its people to ash, and how you had intended for me carry that guilt. It was supposed to crush my spirit, so that I'd be vulnerable to my brother's manipulations. That was your plan, wasn't it?"

Kane licked his lips, but he was otherwise remarkably intact. This was hugely disappointing to Bram, who wanted to see the man writhing with regret. He wanted to see Kane exhibit at least a shred of humanity and demonstrate that he felt the weight of his crimes—that he understood the horrors of what he had done!

But this was not the case. Kane's face was blank and unreadable, which aggravated the beast inside of Bram's gut.

" _Tell them!_ " he roared.

"I never wanted to do it!" At last, Kane's façade had broken. His face turned red, like a child's who had held his breath too long. Beads of sweat rolled down his cheeks. His eyes bulged, and his chin quivered. "It was Samuel's idea, not mine!"

"Then you admit to following his orders!" Bram accused. "I remember every foul word out of your mouth that day. You said you were ordered to kill me if I abandoned the mission. You said the tribesmen were savages bent on turning their aeons against Angkor. You even claimed that Richard would somehow honor us as heroes if we completed this brutish and unprovoked attack—as long as we slayed every last one of them!"

Tears streamed from Kane's eyes, mixing with beads of sweat. "You don't understand!" he wailed. "I would have been executed. Samuel saved my life. All I had to do was complete the mission. I was desperate. I would have done anything."

Quon looked thunderstruck. "So you agreed to murder an entire race of innocents, just to save yourself from your own criminal sentencing?"

"I—I didn't know they were innocent!" Kane frantically stuttered his response. "Samuel c—c—convinced me that the Conjurions were set to wage war against us. He said if we failed, then Angkor's own women and children would die instead. So of course I believed that King Richard would reward us."

Cedric took his turn to weigh in. "But why would you threaten to kill Bram if he didn't go along? It seems rather odd, if you truly believed the mission to be in Angkor's best interests."

Kane looked like a rabid raccoon, trapped in a cage of the craftsman's logic. His eyes were wild and bloodshot. "I … I didn't think it through. Samuel said that Bram had been insubordinate. He claimed that his pride had gotten him into trouble—that King Richard believed him to be untrustworthy—and only I could save him! He said if I succeeded … we'd both be rewarded. And I believed him …."

Kane trailed off, but Bram was having none of it. He shook his head and scoffed in disgust. "You expect the rest of us to believe that shit?" The beast inside yearned to be let out. He wanted to pelt this worthless garbage with his fists. His hands were already balling up.

"Bram!" Rosa yanked him by the arm. He was so upset he wanted to wrench it free, but he quickly reminded himself of what he had done the previous night. Rosa did not understand. She was not responsible. He needed to help her to see things clearly.

"I know what I'm doing, Rosa."

"But you didn't hear what he said," she pleaded. "He was coerced. He wasn't himself."

Bram groaned in frustration. "Rosa, please!" He wanted to be patient with her, but she was slowing things down. "You're being naïve. Coercion is not a defense against killing women and children! Even if Samuel offered Kane protection against a capital crime—even if that crime would have resulted in his death—he still did not have the right to kill innocent people! To state otherwise is the logic of a madman!"

"I agree," Quon added. "If Kane agreed with sound mind to such a proposal, then he has indeed admitted to a very serious crime."

Bram felt a wondrous rush of vindication. Unfortunately, it did not seem to be enough for Rosa.

"But that's just it!" she argued. "Kane was not of sound mind. Not at the time. He was suffering from severe trauma and limited mental capacity."

Bram clenched his teeth. "Based on what? He was set to be executed—and probably deserved it, too. You can't keep on making excuses for him, Rosa! It was his fault that you were my brother's prisoner for three whole weeks! He was mentally fit when he battled with me at the temple of Loulan, and then later when he bartered with us for the fake Capricorn Stone. He can't be both sane and mad when it makes for the best excuse. One way or another, he's guilty!"

Bram believed that he had made a solid case. His logic was flawless, and he wanted to move on with the final judgment. It was time for Kane to barter again—this time for his own life!

But Rosa … she was still unwilling to relent. She held her ground, dug in her heels, and refused to yield. "Bram! If only you'd let him explain!"

The Knight pounded his fist into his palm. "No! I don't care for more explanations. I want you to tell me why you so adamantly defend him. Consider what he's done. That day in the temple … he tried to kill me, Rosa! And the other day, on my airship, I was there with Quon and Cedric when he threatened to kill you. He would have done it, too, if I hadn't gone after Arcesilaus. So how about you give it a rest and stand up for _me_ for a change?"

Rosa glared at him. Her eyes appeared to suggest that she was ready to continue her rebuttal, but for some reason she stopped. Either way, it made Bram all the more disgusted. Here sat a villain who was so obviously guilty, and meanwhile Rosa directed her wrath at the prosecution. It was an insult to everything he had sacrificed to save her!

"I didn't want to fight you." Kane's broken voice captured the room's attention.

Bram tore himself away from Rosa's glare. He needed more time to confront his lover and figure out how she came to despise him so much that she would humiliate him in front of his crew. He wanted to know why she would sooner stand up for a killer than to give him the benefit of the doubt!

But right now, the liar and his lies had stolen the stage.

"Please, believe me," Kane begged. "At the temple, Samuel used the Gemini Stone to bolster his powers. He would have killed both of us if I hadn't played my part. I only fought you to keep up appearances."

Bram threw his hand against his chair, knocking it down with a crash. "Damn you, Kane! You had that spear aimed for the kill—"

"But I didn't!" Based on his pleading eyes and long face, Kane appeared convinced of his own lies. "Samuel had enhanced my moves using the sunstone. I should have easily defeated you. The only reason you beat me was because I threw the fight!"

Bram could contain the beast no longer. He took hold of his toppled chair and threw it against the ship's hull. The wood cracked and splintered, creating a plume of dust that swept across the room and coated every sticky arm and face within range. Almost everyone turned away, except for Kane, whose arms were still securely tied to his chair. The dust cloud surrounded him, throwing him into a coughing fit.

Bram waited for the hacking to let up before pouncing again. "Your sob story might have worked for Rosa, but I'll go to the Burning Pits before I let you convince the others. Why don't you tell Quon and Cedric what you were willing to do to the last remaining survivor from Ur? Tell them what you told me, when I stood in front of Uriana … when I protected her from your murderous threats!"

Kane's body sagged, and he coughed a few more times. His wrists were red and raw from the restraints. It seemed like the rope was the only thing holding him up. His hair and face were matted and gray with dust. He was defeated. All he needed to do was admit the truth.

But he did not. Goddess damn him, he held his ground! Only a sociopath would stick to the lies after what Bram put him through. The Knight was ready to explode.

" _Tell them!_ " he screamed.

Kane coughed a few more times. When he spoke, his voice was weighted with sadness. "Believe it or don't, Bram … but I never intended to kill the child."

Something snapped inside of Bram. He had just cornered his opponent with the most inescapable accusation imaginable—the cold-blooded intent to murder a young girl. And yet, Kane had no shame. Just when Bram thought he could sink no lower, the former Templar doubled down on his lies. It was his word against Bram's, whose entire body was now a pressurized furnace, ready to blow. The Knight clenched his fists, ready to wrap them around the dirty liar's throat.

And the madman went on. "I just needed you to believe that I would have killed her." He sniffled. "It's like I told you. I couldn't afford to fail the mission, or else I'd be dead. I had to make sure that no one reported survivors—not even you."

After a much deeper breath, his whole body shook, as if reliving a horrible memory. "Even so, I couldn't have hurt her. Come to think of it, I never laid a finger on any of the villagers. The spawn killed them, not me. And if … if you had only gone away when I told you to …."

No! Bram prayed that Kane would not finish his sentence. He could not take another lie. He was ready to blow.

"I would have taken her to safety," Kane finished. "She would have been fine, and I could have told Samuel that they were all dead."

Bram lost all control. He was going to end Kane's lies, once and for all!

Like a tiger, he leapt across the room, driving his fist straight into the liar's jaw. Kane flew backwards, chair and all. Almost immediately, several pairs of arms wrapped themselves around Bram's chest and waist, pulling him back. If not for them, he would have gladly pelted this murderer's face until it was ground meat beneath his fingers!

"Bram, stop!"

Rosa's high-pitched screech shook him out of his bloodlust. Her face was white, literally stricken with terror. She ran to Kane's bloodied body, where pools of red formed one drop at a time along his chest. She used the corner of his tunic to absorb some of it, but the blood kept oozing.

She began a healing spell, but he stopped her. "No, don't," he croaked, "let him have this one, Rosa. He needs it."

Kane's words egged Bram on, but the Knight did not need another reason to beat this deceitful whoreson. Instead, he wanted to know why his lover had abandoned him. His voice shook.

"How could you go to him, after all he's done? What about me? I was there, in front of Uriana, protecting her while this piece of human garbage threatened to kill her. Don't tell me that doesn't mean something to you, because Uriana meant a lot to both of us! How could you stand there and defend him like that?"

Bram looked to others for support, but Quon and Cedric had both returned to their seats, shying away uncomfortably. As for Rosa, she had thrown herself on top of Kane and was sobbing uncontrollably. Bram wondered what had gotten into them all. Surely he could not be the only one to object to Kane's atrocities. Did no one else think this monster should be punished? Bram felt himself deflating. He had never felt so alone.

At last, Quon broke the silence. For Bram, just hearing another man's voice was a blessing. "There is still something I fail to understand. If we assume that Kane committed these crimes with malice and intent, then what was his motive to come to our aid against Libicocco? By doing so, he put himself at the mercy of our judgment, when he could have otherwise fled _Zounds_ using an alternate means. Clearly, he must have reasons. But whether they are driven by sanity or madness, I do not know."

"That's because it's not that simple, Master Nan." Rosa wiped away her tears as she rose and picked up Kane's chair. "You haven't heard his whole story, otherwise you'd understand. He's gone through the kind of trauma that no man or woman should be forced to endure … much less relive. So it's no surprise that he has chosen not to reveal the details, even when pressed."

Bram received her glare, but he was still processing what she had said. She had accused him and Quon of jumping to the wrong conclusions, but her basis was unclear. Perhaps even obscure. Even so, he had never seen her so adamant.

A chill crept up his spine. "Rosa, what are you saying?"

The white wizardress wiped her hands along her dress to remove the clumps of dust that had transferred from Kane's chair to her sweat-drenched skin. Very quickly, her demeanor went from desolate to stern. "You really don't get it, do you, Bram? Do you need me to spell it out for you?"

Bram took a step back. Her tone left him aghast. She stood with her hands on her hips and her brows tightly furrowed. He had only seen her like this a couple of times before, and both times she had been downright furious.

But what had he done? His attack was on Kane, a madman who deserved much more than a punch in the face. Bram was hard on the man to get to the truth … to protect Rosa … to protect everyone! How could she think to punish him for that?

She seemed eager to tell him. "The man you see before you is perfectly sane. But until very recently, he was anything but. In the days before your brother first contacted him, he suffered from posttraumatic stress and depression. An accumulation of mental fatigue formed a dissociative state that caused him to lose touch with what we would call socially acceptable norms of morality. And on the day he went with you to go to Ur, any brain functions capable of valuing the lives and safety of villagers were set aside in favor of the mission."

Bram shook his head, now utterly confused. "Are you saying you had him psychoanalyzed? When did you have time for that? You were in prison!"

Rosa glared even harder, as if perturbed that he had interrupted her train of thought. "The short answer is yes, but here's what you need to understand: you've erroneously put his actions into the context of an otherwise healthy man. It might seem obvious to you that he should have rejected Samuel's orders that day and sided with the Conjurions. However, he lacked the mental capacity to do that. All he really cared about was protecting _you_. So if you want to know the truth, Bram, then open your ears. Kane's been telling it the whole time!"

Bram was dumbstruck. He had no reason to doubt Rosa's prognosis, but everything she said flew in the face of conventional wisdom! He had heard stories of soldiers going crazy in the wake of the War, but those were rare cases. Unless men had serious injuries, most returned to their homes and families to lead happy lives. But, occasionally, some would experience terrible nightmares or develop strange phobias in later years. A few cases involved men who murdered their neighbors over trifle disagreements or became drunkards that wasted away their lives in the dark corners of filthy taverns.

Obviously, Bram found it difficult to accept that Kane was one of these men. He had to be sure. "How do you know all this, Rosa? Convince me, please, because I can't see how a prisoner like yourself could have had the kind of access to learn such deep personal truths. Not in your situation, and not with the time you had."

Rosa let out an exasperated breath while using her free hand to pull back a tangled lock of hair that was firmly matted to her sticky dust-strewn face. Then she explained everything: how she had entered Kane's mind using the photograph, learned about his many traumatic truths, and defeated the shadow of the Ahriman that Samuel had planted there. And, finally, she described how she had helped Kane regain control of his mind.

All the while, Bram's blood froze to a block of ice. It had never occurred to him that Kane had a mental condition, let alone something so profound that it would exonerate him from crimes that would have been a death sentence to any sane man.

Things were much different when he and Bram were children. Kane had been more like a dependable older brother, with the kind of mental fitness and ironclad will that Bram had always idolized. When Kane did something, he did it with purpose. Bram never thought for a moment that his friend might have developed a mental handicap later in life. The whole idea was crazy!

"Why didn't you say something earlier?" he pleaded, realizing that if Rosa was right, he had acted terribly. The room's overwhelming heat had already drenched him in sweat, but now he was cold. Terribly cold.

She hesitated, so he pressed harder. "Why did you stand there and let me go on like that? You could have just explained all this in the beginning!"

Rosa shook her head and huffed. "I shouldn't have had to say anything! He used to be your best friend, Bram. Truly, you should have just listened. After all you had experienced as children, you owed him that much. Instead, you used him like a punching bag, as an outlet for your anger. Think about that, Bram. You think about that and be ashamed!"

The blood was gone from Bram's face. It had all pooled in his heart, where it hung like dead weight. He had doled out anger without even thinking about the consequences of being wrong. He had physically assaulted the man whom he had once loved like a brother. A man who, it seemed, still put Bram's interests ahead of his own. Truly, there was a monster in the room, but it was not the man sitting tied to a chair like a criminal.

Kane was now broken, shaking and cowering as he spoke. "I'm … I'm ashamed of what I did. And I deserve your judgment and hate. I never believed in using insanity as an excuse. But here I am. I can honestly say that I didn't know what I was thinking. And that scares me. My memories don't make sense, and I can't rationalize what I've done. It's like someone else controlled my body. It's messed up. I'm messed up. And the worst thing is: I don't know how to make it right."

Bram's heart was ready to burst. Kane's pitiful face reminded him of another man, one who had once washed up on the shores of Minoa. The Bram of several weeks ago had lost everything, but in facing those losses, he had finally acknowledged his past mistakes. A long journey followed, culminating in an encounter with the mystical Oracle. Despite what Bram thought of himself, he was not condemned. Rather, the Oracle had granted him a new beginning—one which he hoped would one day lead to forgiveness and redemption.

Now, it was Kane's chance for a new beginning. Bram had no choice but to grant it to him. Because, if he did not, then he had no right to wear his Grigori armor.

So he stepped forward, with conviction, and looked upon the sniveling wretch still tied to a chair. Using his own shirt sleeve, Bram wiped away the runs of blood and snot on his old friend's lip.

The words were difficult to say, but now the situation demanded them. "Kane … I don't know if things will ever be the same. I trusted you with my heart, spent my most impressionable years building our friendship, and there's too much pain to start over."

Kane's shoulders slumped and his head sank, but Bram was not finished. "Even so … I was so wrong to mistreat you just now. You showed a willingness to reconcile, and your bravery against Libicocco saved more than just our lives. So, if you're able to forgive me, and if you keep on proving that you deserve our trust … then I _am_ willing to start over."

Bram turned to Quon. A great weight had been lifted, and his heart felt light again. "Master Nan, please remove the restraints."

Quon used his belt knife to cut through the ropes binding Kane's hands. The former Templar rubbed his wrists, and then his lips curled upward in an expression of gratitude. "Thank you, Bram. I promise you won't be sorry."

At last, the tension in the room dissolved. After a few moments of silence, Rosa made a sensible suggestion. "Let's get out of this stifling room. Is anyone coming with me?"

Bram was eager to get some fresh air. "Yes, good idea. Let's take our chairs and head above deck. There's a lot we still need to discuss."

It seemed that everyone was grateful to cool off. The hot equatorial sun still shined brightly, but the _Heron's_ sails created the perfect shade, allowing a gentle tropical breeze to keep everyone cool and pleasant.

After expending all his anger and vitriol, Bram was finally ready to have a constructive conversation. He hoped that Kane's relationship with his brother would yield some valuable information, and that it would help the crew to get back on track. It still felt awkward to speak with his old friend in amicable terms, but in a way, he also relished it.

The chairs were arranged back in a circle. Bram had found another to replace the one he broke, and this time he made sure that Kane sat among them. The former Templar was no longer the center of an interrogation. Now he was a member of the crew.

Bram opened the conversation. "We're here today because of several reasons. Luck and extraordinary courage brought us this far. My brother is defeated, and the Gemini Stone is now in our possession."

The Knight paused, allowing his praise to sink in before darkening the mood. "However, we still have a long way to go. Two sunstones remain. One of them might very well be next to my brother's corpse at the bottom of the ocean. And if it is, recovering it won't be easy. Meanwhile, the Capricorn Stone is likely in the possession of Virgil Garvey. Our greatest threat is the Ahriman it contained, Lord Zagan, the most powerful ever known. Unfortunately, we have little information on this beast outside of myth. If we're to succeed, we must learn more about our enemy. So, Kane, I was hoping you could start by giving us some insight."

Bram hoped that his old friend would have amazing truths to reveal, but instead Kane sort of withered in front of him. Leaving the cargo holds had initially put the former Templar in high spirits, but now he looked uneasy. Bram braced for bad news.

"I'm sorry, Bram, but I don't know anything about Lord Zagan. And I sure don't think that Virgil is under its control. He's a talented wizard, sure—and he often surprises people with what he knows—but he sure doesn't act like a powerful archdemon. Not to me, anyway."

Cedric leaned forward with an audible harrumph. "Well, you and I must have very different ideas of what it takes to be a pitfiend. The Virgil Garvey I know is a dark sadistic maniac who would scar you for life if you ever crossed him."

The craftsman nodded in emphasis, prompting Bram to add a bit more. "I agree. We encountered Virgil in the Angkorian waterways, where he turned into a bunch of snakes right in front of us. He's more powerful than any wizard I've ever known."

Kane looked apologetic. "I didn't mean to suggest he wasn't unique. But you're trying to argue that he's an actual Ahriman in disguise, so all I can offer is my own experience. The Virgil I know is assertive and domineering, but when he's actually in charge, he barely takes things seriously. He comes across as lazy, clownish, easily offended, and probably insecure. I usually kept my distance. He always gave me the impression that he wanted to kill me, so I never stuck around long enough to give him a reason."

Bram sighed. It seemed that asking direct questions about Virgil was not getting very far. There had to be something else of value locked away in Kane's head, but the Knight needed to suggest a different line of questioning.

"How about you tell us more about Rosa's curse? Last night you mentioned that you might know how to help her."

Bram noticed a sudden change in Rosa's body language. She frowned and turned away, as if the topic had upset her. No doubt she was uncomfortable discussing the curse, but Bram suspected there was something personal about her scowl, as if directed to him in particular.

Ever since leaving the ship's holds, she had given him the cold shoulder. She sat opposite from him in the circle, as if maximizing her distance. He knew he needed to set some time aside to apologize for overreacting earlier, but he hoped she had not taken it personally.

At least the question put Kane into a better mood. In fact, he seemed pleased to have a chance to contribute something useful. "That's right! I had nearly forgotten. Last night, I was referring to the power of the moonstones."

"Moonstones?" Bram recognized the term, but he could not remember where. Then it hit him. "The Gnostic Knight atop Mount Abakai! Quon, it was back when we first met. Remember?"

Bram's reminder resonated with the Kenju Master. "Yes, I remember that, too. Although …" Quon paused for a bit, as if recalling something else. "When we asked Emperor Zhao Peng about the moonstone, he was unfamiliar with it. If a Sunstone Protector does not know about the moonstones, how do we know we are on the right track? Why are we only hearing about them now?"

Kane was ready with an answer. "The moonstones were never part of the Enchantment passed down among Sunstone Protectors. They are separate artifacts with unique powers. They have similar names, but you should think of them as completely different artifacts."

"And yet, you argue that they're both related to the Ahrimen," Cedric reminded.

Kane sighed. "Yes, they're related, but while the sunstones were created to imprison the Ahrimen, the moonstones are able to nullify their powers completely—at least while in an Ahriman's presence. That's how Samuel explained it, anyway. He wanted one to end his own curse."

Bram was so jarred by the admission that he almost fell out of his chair. "Wait, slow down! There's a way to nullify an Ahriman's magic? And you heard it from my brother, who was also cursed?"

Kane explained. "Yes, Bram. He was also Marked by one of the Ahrimen. And he believed that possessing a moonstone was the only true cure."

Bram could hardly believe it. The power of such an artifact changed everything! Not just for Rosa, but the moonstones were the critical tool for transporting the remaining sunstones. It was the missing piece of the puzzle. The only way to contain all four demons without becoming corrupted!

"So where do we find these moonstones?" he asked eargerly.

Unfortunately, the Templar's expression fell. "I'm sorry, Bram. Not even Virgil or Samuel knew where to look. That's why they confiscated the _Zounds_ airship and installed its special sensors. They were using them to look for the moonstones. Until the airbase was destroyed, that is."

"The black boxes!"

Cedric's shrill voice made Bram jump. He glared back at the craftsman, whose cheeks flushed. "I apologize for the outburst, my friend, but those sensors sound like the same black boxes that were in my blueprints."

"Black boxes?" Bram repeated. "What do you mean?"

"They are parameters without details," Cedric explained, "and they give architects like me a lot of grief, since we can't guarantee that they won't affect the overall integrity of the design."

"I know what black boxes are," Bram clarified. "I meant to ask why you thought they were important."

"Oh." Cedric turned a shade or two redder. "Perhaps they aren't, but they did cause me to want to raise the issue with King Richard. And if I hadn't gone out of my way to seek him, I would have never stumbled upon the Ahriman or ended up in Angkor's dungeon. It seems crazy, I know, but if not for those changes, I probably wouldn't be here."

Bram was intrigued by the background, but it seemed to steer the conversation in the wrong direction. He needed to get back on topic. "I agree it's useful to learn more about how Samuel and Virgil planned. Clearly, they placed a great deal of importance on locating the moonstones, which suggests these artifacts are important. We also need a way to negate the Ahrimen's powers. But the question remains: how do we find the moonstones?"

He turned to his old friend. "Kane, there must be something more you can tell us. Even the slightest clue might point us in the right direction."

Kane sat back, pressing his lips tightly together and folding his arms in thought. "I remember something from Samuel. He was frustrated because the sensors were not picking up enough meaningful data. Even so, he seemed to think it meant the moonstones were not in any of the ordinary places."

Bram grunted. The response was far from insightful.

But then Cedric jumped in. "What do you think he meant by 'ordinary places'?"

Kane thought for a moment. "I suppose he meant places that were accessible from his airship."

Cedric grinned. "But I designed _Zounds_ to go almost anywhere. The only exceptions would be tight spaces, like canyons, or underground caves, and the like."

Bram perked up. "You mean, like the Great Crevasse?"

Quon shook his head. "We cannot fool ourselves into thinking that we can just find one of these moonstones by guessing. The chance of stumbling upon one of them would be extremely remote. The Great Crevasse spans for dozens of leagues in either direction. We cannot scale the cliffs and attempt a thorough search, even if we had weeks to perform one. Besides, there must be dozens of smaller canyons on Gaia, as well as caves and underground networks that an airship like _Zounds_ cannot enter. We must gather more clues before we waste our time searching at random."

Bram groaned. Quon was right. The information was still too little to go on.

"What about Virgil?" Rosa suggested. She had not spoken in a while, so it drew some attention. "After all, how would he gather the other sunstones without proper protection? Can't we just pick up his trail and beat him to his destination using the _Heron_?"

Bram thought it was a great idea, but he stopped short of praising her when she gave him a dirty look from across the room. Was she truly still angry about before?

Meanwhile, Kane scratched his head. "Actually, I don't know where Virgil is right now, but I know he's not after the moonstones. He went looking for this tower called Axismundi."

The name meant nothing to Bram. He tried to repeat the words. "Axis … moon-dee?"

"Axismundi," Kane repeated. "After Virgil gathers all the sunstones and moonstones, he's supposed to take them there."

"But what's so special about a tower?" Cedric wondered.

"It's the final place of their grand plan," Kane explained. "Samuel once told me that the sunstones were capable of unlocking some kind of grand power inside that tower."

Quon looked skeptical. "I do not understand. I thought the power of the sunstones came from the Ahrimen."

Kane tried to explain. "No, you have it backward. Samuel and Virgil want to use the combined power of the Ahrimen to unlock something even more powerful inside the tower."

Quon was still unconvinced. "Mister Harding, I am only trying to understand how a simple tower could contain something so valuable that our enemy would risk the fate of the world in order to obtain it. If the contents are so great, why haven't others attempted to explore it take its treasures?"

"It's not just any old tower," Kane tried again. "It's ancient, possibly older than the Ahrimen themselves, at least according to Samuel. It's also hidden from normal view, so nobody in the modern age even knows about it."

"What do you mean 'hidden'?" Cedric asked.

Fortunately, Rosa chimed in. "Cedric, Master Nan." Both men gave the white wizardress their full attention.

"There is plenty of magical lore and historical precedent behind hidden structures. If a wizard is sufficiently powerful, there's no limit to the kinds of enchantments that he or she can place on an inanimate object. This might include making it invisible, or even sending it through time. I am particularly interested in whether Axismundi might be connected to the original wizards who imprisoned the Ahrimen long ago. We still know next to nothing about how they did it, but perhaps Axismundi can shed some light. Perhaps, we might even find a way to defeat the Ahrimen permanently!"

Kane smiled at having received the extra help. "Thank you, Rosa. I just wanted to add one more thing. Samuel took the tower very seriously. Everything he and Virgil have done so far has been part of their plan to reach Axismundi with all four sunstones and moonstones. We should not take that lightly."

Kane and Rosa had made some good points. Bram agreed that Axismundi must be a crucial part of their journey. Unfortunately, finding an invisible tower would be difficult, if not impossible. Meanwhile, he worried that Rosa's condition could worsen at any moment. Any time wasted on moonstones or lost towers would be costly. He needed to find a more reliable cure before it was too late.

"Let's think about it from our enemy's point of view," he suggested. "Based on what Kane described, Virgil and Samuel seemed to follow divide-and-conquer tactics. Virgil went off looking for Axismundi, while Samuel stayed behind to search for the moonstones. However …" Bram hung on the word to capture his crowd's attention, "we defeated Samuel and destroyed _Zounds_ , which was their only means for finding the moonstones."

"Which is strange," Cedric suggested, "since we had assumed that Virgil lured us there to gather all the sunstones in one location."

"And he did," Kane confirmed. "He was the one who ordered me to lead you back to _Zounds_."

"Right," Bram confirmed, "but he never showed up. Assuming he's not stupid, why make it easy for us to defeat his partner? And why sacrifice the ship that was necessary to complete his mission? Any ideas?"

The craftsman leaned forward while stroking the tuft of his beard. "What if … what if Virgil didn't care all that much about a setback with the moonstones. What if he already has one?"

Bram shook his head. "I don't think so, Cedric. If Kane was correct when he said that Samuel was Marked by one of the Ahrimen, he could have used that moonstone to lift his curse."

"But, wait," Cedric insisted. "Let's say that only Virgil knew about it, and he kept it from your brother intentionally. It wouldn't be the first time he's put his own interests ahead of Samuel's."

Kane whistled. "Phew, if that was true and Samuel found out, he'd have been furious."

"Sure, but what of it?" Bram argued. "I can see Virgil walking away from _Zounds_ , but only if he had all four moonstones. With just one of them, he'd still be short of his goal, and he'd be leaving behind his best chance of finding the others."

"Ah!" The craftsman looked like he had an empiphany of logic. He held up an index finger, while a smirk crept across his face. "I've been thinking about it differently. Think about it: Virgil stole the Capricorn Stone from the clerics thirty years ago, but we've been struggling to puzzle out why we've seen no evidence of Lord Zagan."

Bram's jaw went slack as he suddenly realized the craftsman's point. "By the Goddess, Cedric, you're brilliant!"

Quon and Kane looked confused, so he explained. "We've been thinking about it all wrong. Lord Zagan isn't controlling Virgil. The demon is still inside the sunstone! Virgil must have used a moonstone to protect himself from the Ahriman's corruption, and he's been wielding its demonic powers ever since!"

"Precisely!" Cedric concluded, looking rather proud of himself. Bram was impressed, too. It seemed that Cedric had a true strength in deductive reasoning.

Rosa added to the hypothesis. "Come to think of it, I seem to remember Virgil reaching inside his cloak whenever he used his most powerful magic. It must have been the moonstone. I noticed it the day I was taken from my old schoolmaster's house in Niedam."

Quon stepped in with a second perspective. "Perhaps that can explain the difference in Virgil's magic. While the Ahrimen appear to wield higher strength version of white or black magic, Virgil's is similar to Bram's Grigori powers, in that no wizard can detect it."

"You're right," Bram agreed. "It's possible that the moonstones were created by the Grigori. Perhaps that's what Virgil meant when he claimed that our powers came from the same source."

"Also," Cedric added, "a connection with Lord Zagan might explain how Virgil has been able to broker deals with the other Ahrimen. After all, the demons we know are impervious to reason or persuasion. How else could he have convinced them to do his bidding?"

Quon leaned back in his chair. "Indeed, the clues seem to fit. However, we began with asking why Virgil had gone through the trouble to betray Bram's brother. How does having a moonstone or using the powers of Lord Zagan explain that?"

Kane sighed. "I think I know."

The others pulled their chairs ever closer as he explained. "While working for Samuel, I witnessed several confrontations between him and Virgil. It was always the same argument. Samuel believed it was his right to lead because of his relationship to the Master—his and Bram's father. Meanwhile, Virgil argued that Samuel lacked decisiveness, and he needed to make tougher calls."

Rosa arched her brows. "So you think Virgil betrayed Samuel on the basis of an internal power struggle?"

Kane nodded. "In a matter of speaking, yes. I think Virgil wanted to make a point. If he could humiliate Samuel in front of the Master, it was his way of maintaining his relevance. Of course, I don't think he ever intended for things to go so wrong. _Zounds_ was still a valuable asset to him, and he certainly didn't want to lose another sunstone to Bram. In the end, I think his plan backfired."

Quon did not look so convinced. "It sounds like far too much effort and risk, just to humiliate his cohort. Was it really worth it, just to ingratiate himself with his superior?"

Kane shrugged. "Virgil is both ambitious as well as a natural born risk-taker. Whatever reward he and Samuel expect to share with the Master, Virgil would not have wanted his share marginalized by a father-son relationship. His best bet was to create distance between Samuel and his father. To Virgil, the reward at the end is all that matters."

"Yes, but you also stated that Virgil would not have accepted the destruction of his airbase or the loss of another sunstone," Quon argued. "Therefore, he must have seriously miscalculated our response."

"I believe that's the case," Kane proposed. "After all, he must have figured that Bram would lose the battle with Abaddon if he was forced into a confrontation with Samuel. And if not, Virgil left Libicocco behind as a contingency. Either way, he expected one or both brothers to lose their bodies, which would have given him the remaining sunstones."

Bram's felt a shiver shoot across his spine to his fingers and toes. Virgil's plan almost worked. The reason it failed had to do with luck, courage, and timing. Had Rosa failed to save Kane from the Ahriman's shadow, he would have killed her. And her death would have certainly driven Bram into a spiral of vengeance and hatred.

Thankfully, Matthias stepped in, allowing Bram to catch up to Rosa and Kane before Libicocco found them. And later, Rosa's courage saved Bram from Abaddon's corruption, while Kane managed to dislodge the Gemini Stone from Libicocco's breast. Had any of these not occurred, their journeys would have ended.

The fact that Bram and his crew survived all of Virgil's contingencies—while also defeating Samuel and destroying their airbase—was nothing short of a miracle. Bram owed his life to his friends … and so much more.

Of course, while he was moved to offer them his heartfelt thanks, he was distracted by another question that lingered in his head—a rather compelling temptation to ask about the so-called Master. "What of my father, Kane?"

Now was Bram's chance to seize the details behind the mystery that had captured his curiosity since he was a boy. He craved an answer to this question more than anything. "Did you ever meet him? Do you know anything at all about him?"

Of course, a part of Bram also regretted his questions, because he was afraid of what he might learn. He tried to imagine a father so devilish and cunning that the man would order his own son to commit crimes against humanity, while sacrificing his other son to host an immortal demonic power—all for his own gains. Bram feared what might happen when he finally opened this box of secrets.

But, disappointingly, the former Templar was at a loss of words. He scratched his head and looked at Bram sheepishly. "Umm … there's not much to say, actually. I only heard your father mentioned in discussions between Samuel and Virgil. And even then, they always referred to him as Master-this and Master-that. Not by name. He never once visited _Zounds_ , and I don't even think Samuel ever spoke with him directly. He only received information second-hand through Virgil."

Quon leaned forward with raised brows. "You expect us to believe that Samuel never once spoke with his own father?"

Kane raised his hands. "As crazy as it sounds, that was my impression. The crew all knew who the Master was, but no one ever saw him. The only exception was when Virgil spoke with Samuel and passed along what the Master had told him."

Bram was confused. "What kind of father uses an intermediary to speak with his own son? And for that matter, how would Samuel expect to maintain leadership, when he lacked even a direct interface with his superior. Who's to say that Virgil's information was even reliable? Kane, are you sure that Samuel didn't communicate with our father through other means?"

He shrugged. "Unfortunately, Samuel was very sensitive about his personal life. If I ever asked any questions, he was quick to tell me which subjects were off limits. And at that point, I dared not ask again."

Quon took a deep breath as he looked at the midday sun. "Well, Bram, the day wanes. I think we have learned as much as we can for now. I think you should make the call on how to proceed."

Bram stood up and looked to the horizon. The water was so peaceful. Gently rolling waves slapped the ship, creating an almost playful splash that tempted Bram to lay out and enjoy the tropical sunshine. Of course, he had to move forward. Time was limited, and he was already feeling the crunch.

"We need two things," he began. "Fuel and information. Preferably both at once."

"But where would we go?" Rosa challenged. "We know next to nothing about the moonstones or Axismundi."

Bram walked over to her chair and was disheartened to see her shy away from him. Clearly, she was still very angry. She had every right to be. He had made a promise to control his anger and keep an open mind, and he had let her down. Instead, he showed a violent side that no doubt made her question whether she truly knew him.

Even so, he had made another promise—to protect her from the Ahriman's curse—and for that, he would do everything in his power to keep it. No matter what. With all other routes dead ends, only one other option remained.

"We need to retrace old steps," he suggested. "That means starting with the one person who knew more about the Ahrimen and the sunstones than anyone else."

"Who?" Rosa's voice was shrill, sounding like she had long since run out of patience.

Bram understood her frustration. He would need to work at rebuilding her trust in him. "Maurice Vance."

She cackled incredulously. "What? That's your best idea? Forget it. He's long gone. No one even knows what happened to him. The trail is dead."

"You're probably right," Bram responded. "However, we know where to find one of his apprentices."

"You mean the Elder of Minoa?" Quon asked.

Rosa and Cedric gawked at the Kenju Master as if he were crazy.

"No, it's true," Bram assured. "The One Voice revealed this to us right before we left Kish. The Minoan Elder is a man named Christian, and he was indeed one of Maurice Vance's apprentices."

Rosa looked unconvinced. "And you believed her? A man that spent years of his life as a Kybalic disciple suddenly becomes the leader of the Gaian Priesthood? It's almost impossible to imagine."

"But it's true," Bram insisted. "The day I left Minoa, the Elder told me himself that he and Vance were once colleagues. I wanted to learn more, but he urged me to press on to Angkor. Ever since, I've wanted to go back and ask him about it. This is finally our chance."

"But do you really think this Elder knows about the moonstones?" Quon challenged. "We are still quite far from Minoa, and heading in the wrong direction would only waste more precious time."

Bram thought about it. "Vance was an expert in sunstone lore. He was also the only one to learn about the celestial convergence."

"What convergence?" Rosa demanded.

Bram was eager to tell her. "Remember that time with Emperor Zhao Peng when you theorized that the names of the sunstones would be important? Well, you were right! They are."

Her angry face started to relax. "How so?"

"Pisces, Gemini, Sagittarius, and Capricorn … these are the names once given to systems of stars beyond our world. Vance discovered that these stars move over time, and if one tracks their location, they will eventually find a convergence to a particular pattern. The last time that pattern existed was about a thousand years ago."

"About the same time the Ahrimen were first imprisoned!" Rosa concluded.

"That's right," Bram praised. "And as it turns out, that pattern will happen again soon. In fact, it might even be imminent."

Rosa had a moment of realization, where her eyes lost focus and she stared out into space. "If that's true, then any spells cast during the first convergence would lose their power. Wizards use star patterns to increase the effectiveness and longevity of their spells, but it only lasts until the next convergence. If that includes the spells cast by the original wizards binding the Ahrimen to their sunstones, then we need to find the moonstones and Axismundi before that happens."

"That's exactly why Vance went to Kish to study their sunstone," Bram explained. "Not only was he already familiar with the Ahrimen, but he had intended to stop them for good."

A moment of relief finally entered Rosa's eyes. "Then it's possible he also knew about the moonstones."

Bram nodded. "That's my hope as well. As you've stated, we won't be able to retrace Vance's steps directly. However, the Elder might know enough about Vance's old research to point us in the right direction. At the very least, he might be able to tell us more about what happened thirty years ago. Whatever we learn, we can use it to determine next steps. It's the best lead we have, and I think we should use it. Does anyone disagree?"

Cedric stood up from his chair. "I say we go."

"So do I," Rosa affirmed.

"Very well," Quon agreed. "It seems we are aligned."

"We can reach Minoa by tomorrow," Cedric offered, "assuming we leave now and travel southwest."

"Then let's get started," Bram commanded. It felt good to finally have a destination.

With that, the group dispersed, taking their chairs back into storage. Bram went to meet up with Rosa, but she still gave him the cold shoulder. He worried that things might be permanently damaged between them. He had hoped to at least offer an apology, but she passed right by him without saying a word.

His shoulders slumped. Rosa had woken up that morning in good spirits—a miracle after being cursed by one of the Ahrimen. But in the hours since, Bram had ruined everything. He had destroyed her faith in him, and he wondered how he might ever get it back.

For the next hour, he helped Quon and Cedric get the _Heron_ airborne. All while feeling just as anxious and jittery as in the morning. When he finally returned to his cabin, he sat at his old oak desk and stared out to sea. Unfortunately, his old pastime failed to grant him peace. Not this time. He had a problem—a personal problem—and he had no idea how to solve it.

Rosa had seen him at his most violent, ready to beat the life out of his best friend with his bare hands. Of course, he never would have done such a thing. Or would he? He remembered how badly he had wanted to mash his fists into Kane's face. The mere memory was hideous and disturbing, and he would never forget it. It just repeated in his mind, over and over.

The suffocating air returned, making Bram feel like he was underwater. Before long, he was gasping for air! He started pacing, and at some point found himself in front of Rosa's door. Before he could stop himself, he knocked twice.

"Who is it?" she asked.

He hesitated, now more self-conscious than ever. He needed to make a move, but it was difficult not to make things worse. He did not want to lose her forever. Every ingrained emotion told him to run away, but he forced himself to hold firm. His insides churned as he opened the latch and walked inside.

She was wearing a white silken nightgown that he remembered from years ago. Years ago, he had been firmly pressed against it as he and Rosa celebrated their love. He remembered it well, though it seemed so long ago. All he knew was that times had once been good between them, and he had to work hard to get it back. He could not lose her again. Not now.

She glared at him like an unwelcome guest. "What do you want?"

Her voice had never sounded so edgy. For a moment, he thought he would never be able to answer. He loved her so much it hurt. A tear rolled down his cheek. "I … I was awful. I … I need help."

Her face of stone crumbled. Perhaps somewhere deep inside, she saw a fraction of his pain and sincerity. This time, he promised himself to open up and confess everything. She needed to understand his reasons, and to do that, he needed to expose a part of himself that he had always been afraid of revealing. But not this time. This time, he would do anything she asked.

At last, she waved her hand and beckoned him inside.


	35. Chapter 10, Part III

**.**

* * *

 **Part III**

 _Two Days Earlier  
_ _Evening of Somnus, Fifth Day of Duskmoon_ _  
_

* * *

In a split second, Konrad had walked away from his lover, turned his back on his home, and put his entire future at risk. That was what happened when he stormed out of his rancorous and emotionally draining confrontation with Géorg. He was still choked up about it. He fled Heinz Unruh's inn while his heart pulled heavily at his chest. He detested leaving in anger, but it was too late to turn back and undo the damage. Géorg had chosen to support the surrogate king, who—by every measure—had betrayed the law and spirit of the country he fought so hard to rule.

Konrad's decision might have seemed hasty, but he had spent days thinking about what he would do if he ever traced Józef's disappearance back to Unruh. Though the heir's letter had not provided irrefutable proof, Konrad had also been following up on several other threads, all which pointed to Unruh's guilt. Konrad was certain that a formal investigation would find probative evidence. Unfortunately, he would get nowhere fighting the legal battle on Unruh's home turf.

Besides, if Konrad did nothing, Unruh would eventually send his assassins after the young prince and finish the job. Unruh knew of Józef's location, and he feared the prince's return. Konrad knew he needed to act fast, or else he would have no more ward to protect.

He fretted over this as he wandered to the nearest stable-master. He was still bitter and angry about his fight with Géorg, and he wanted to fix it all quickly. He feared the uncertainty of what he had just committed to, but he needed to prove that he could triumph. He had to know that he had made the right choice, given that he would be plunging the country into civil war.

Unfortunately, the more he thought about the magnitude of his task, the more he realized that riding to Kish was untenable. The fastest viscar would take more than a week, and Unruh's assassins would be much better riders. Routes by sea were equally shaky. As soon as Unruh caught wind of Konrad escape, he would track Konrad's ship and order it blown out of the water.

Konrad dismayed over the lack of solid paths. All routes were becoming dead ends, and the cold sweats of defeat already left his tunic feeling itchy and uncomfortable. He gasped for air one tiny breath at a time. It felt as if he had hiked to the highest mountaintop, but he had not even left his home city. He was a failure … and he hardly even noticed when a familiar face crossed his path.

A female voice rudely cleared her throat.

Konrad stopped dead in his tracks and glared. Lady Black stood there in her black silken gown, which draped sensuously around her supple figure. Her garb was so uncommon among Kitezhian locals that it was hard for passersby not to gawk. Usually, the reclusive wizardress rarely ventured outside of her apartments, so it was rare to see her in the streets in plain sight.

Konrad figured she came to discuss more of her obscure premonitions, but he had no time or patience to listen to them. All they did was portend terrible wars and ends of the world, and he had far more urgent tasks to complete. He searched for a tactful excuse.

Of course, Lady Black beat him to it with what sounded like a practiced rebuttal. "Hear me out, Mister Rommel, before you turn me away."

He held his tongue. If she was going to call him out in public, he might as well listen politely.

She went directly to the point. "I know about your decision to pursue the heir. In direct disregard of the king's orders, I might add."

Konrad opened his eyes so wide they almost fell out of their sockets. He looked around to see if anyone overheard. "What are you doing?!" he practically screeched. "Do you see where we are?"

He tried to guide her off the main street. "How did you know? Is the news already public?"

He worried if Unruh might have already shut down the roads out of the city. Konrad could not allow himself to get arrested at any of the checkpoints. He would immediately be put on trial and hung!

Lady Black shook her head. She must have read his mind. "My words are for your ears only, Mister Rommel. Notice how no one here pays you any heed." She gestured to the passersby who minded their own business. "And to answer your question: No, Unruh is not aware … yet. Although, I suggest you come up with a good plan … and soon."

A plan? Was she mocking him? No … she had other motives. He could tell by the flare in her eyes that she was setting him up for a proposition.

"What do you want?" he demanded.

She cracked a smile and curled her index finger seductively. "Come this way."

He could hardly refuse. If she knew about his plans to challenge Unruh, then she had incredible bargaining power. He only hoped the price was not too steep. His body tensed as she led him down a side street, explaining her proposal.

Supposedly, she had business in Kish, but it was unrelated to Prince Brandt. She did not elaborate—not that Konrad thought she would—but she offered to extend her method of travel so that he might join her. And yet she asked nothing in return.

Konrad was surprised. It was a generous offer, though not much of a bargain if she had nothing to gain from it. With her magic, he would be able to reach Kish in a fraction of the time. The problem was why she had bothered to seek him out in the first place. He had nothing to offer her, but by helping him, she would be seen as an accomplice and subject to the same judgment. That had to mean she had plans for him later, and he badly wanted to know what she had in store.

He did not suspect anything malicious. Lady Black was not the type to seduce men into traps—not that it would have worked with Konrad, anyway. However, if her ulterior motive had been to pull Konrad into one of her premonitions, he would rightly be concerned.

On the other hand, her offer was the only viable path to the prince. He would be foolish to refuse, even if her offer did come with additional risks. So he agreed, and Lady Black led him to her warp gate.

It was unusual for wizards to take companions along their gateways of magic, but Lady Black made an exception. As Konrad stepped inside, he experienced a transition into a kind of _mirror world_ , which resembled the real world except for certain visual distortions.

Konrad was reminded of swimming underwater, which he had done quite often during hot summer months at Lake Derfriedlich with the Brandt family. At the lake's bottom, plants and fish appeared blurry, and the refracted light created a dancing gemstone effect on the scenery. The visuals were similar inside the mirror world.

However, upon stepping outside of this world, Konrad and Lady Black would end up leagues away from their starting point. The first time, he felt like a child exposed to fireworks for the first time. He was enthralled. With this kind of magic, he would beat even the best riders atop the fastest viscars!

He and Lady Black continued in this manner, stepping in and out of the mirror world, across the Kitezhian plains and south to the Vinetan border. Before he knew it, he was in the dense Vinetan forests and well on his way to Lagash, the capital.

He made dozens of these magical hops, but on the last one, he left the mirror world and noticed the sky above was full of sparkling brilliance. He almost wondered if he had stepped into another realm of even greater magical wonder. Of course, he quickly recognized the dusty byway surrounded by dense forests that placed him on the route to Lagash.

Even so, he looked up as bands of rose, amber, and chartreuse ran across the sky, even as dusk descended. Beautiful wisps of lime-green and honey mesmerized him with their stunning beauty. But when he looked over to Lady Black, his body tensed in alarm. Something terrible had come over her!

He rushed to her aid, just as she sank to her knees and fell face first into the mud. Konrad feared she was possessed by another of her premonitions, similar to the one from her apartments several weeks earlier. But this time, it was much worse.

As he lifted her face from the standing water, her body whipped and thrashed in a series of seizures. Her eyes rolled deep in the back of her head, and sweat came from every pore. Using his full strength, he pulled her into his arms and wiped the dirt and residue from her nose and mouth. He held her until her body relaxed.

Now he was scared. She had stopped breathing, and he had no medical training, no potions, and no supplies. All he could do was clear her airways and hope she would breathe on her own. Her pulse was slow, and seemed within a hair's width of her life.

His euphoria turned to dread. If only he was an apothecary or someone experienced in medicine, and not just a foolish politician. He was alone in the woods, and Kitezh's most powerful black wizard was about to die in his arms. He looked down both ends of the road and saw nothing but a dark and empty path. Certainly, no fellow travelers would come to his aid. Night—and panic—was quickly descending.

A wolf howled. Icy fear crept through his veins as he imagined falling prey to wild animals. He was easy meat without protection. He began to tap rhythmically on the still woman's back, hoping to dislodge whatever blocked her airways.

"Come on …." He prayed to the Goddess to have pity on him. "Please …." His taps strengthened.

At last, Lady Black coughed, and a mouthful of mud spewed forth, followed by a gigantic gulp of air. Konrad was overjoyed. The Lady was alive!

When her breathing returned to normal, he helped her to her feet and led her to a softer and drier place on the side of the road. Along the way, he did his best to wipe stray pebbles from her once-beautiful silken garments, which hung from her frame like a wilted flower. For some reason, it seemed to restore a bit of dignity to the now disheveled wizardress. Her face was ashen, but by some miracle she was now stable—and hopefully on her way to recovery.

Konrad chest burned with curiosity. "My dear Lady … if you are able to speak … please tell me what happened."

The wizardress looked half-dazed. "Give me space," she ordered, shooing him away with her free hand.

He stepped back, his mind wild with speculation. He suspected a heart attack or stroke, or some magical effect from the mirror world. Seconds stretched painfully as Lady Black stared in silence at a small weed to the side of the road. Konrad had a tough time being patient. He needed reassurances that she would recover, and that he would not be stuck in dark and dangerous woods when the last bit of daylight disappeared!

"Please, my Lady," he pressed, his voice more urgent. Perhaps, even frantic. "Tell me … will you … will you be alright? Can I help?"

The powerful wizardress rolled her neck from side to side, producing a series of small pops. "You cannot help this time, Mister Rommel. Something … happened, which briefly and abruptly severed my connection to magic."

"What do you mean?" For the most part, magical explanations were lost on poor Konrad.

She coughed a few more times, and her voice was weak. She spoke softly, as if every word took effort. "Powerful wizards such as myself have spent too many years attuned to the forces of magical energy. We have grown … dependent on that force, and when we lose that connection, it produces many harmful effects to the body. Do you understand?"

He nodded slowly. "Do you know what severed your connection?"

He had never seen Lady Black hesitate when it came to a simple question. She was the world's best Diviner with access to incredible knowledge, but now she looked distant, as if still puzzling over an answer.

"I am uncertain," she admitted. "But I have my theories. In the meantime, we must reach Lagash before we become vulnerable to night creatures. Please, help me."

Konrad approached and offered her a shoulder to lean on. "I suppose we will not be entering the mirror world anytime soon?"

Lady Black shook her head. "I need to recover before I attempt any more complicated spells. Only simple incantations for now—and then, only if we are forced to defend ourselves."

Konrad sighed. It would take hours to limp their way to the capital. Thankfully, Lady Black still had the strength to summon a small ball of violet light, which even Konrad knew to be among the simplest of enchantments. Still, it was enough for them to follow the path ahead. Konrad took the first step forward, hoping the terrible incident was merely a bump in the road.

* * *

 _..._

* * *

Anja reached Lagash in the early hours of morning. She was cold and wet inside her soiled black evening gown, quite unbecoming of her prestigious title of "Lady Black". She directed Konrad to the sparser side of town, to the north, far from the loathsome crowds of the inner city. She found an inn with two open rooms and spared a few hours to clean and rest. But by daybreak, she was ready to move.

She left without waking her companion. The snoring former minister had an important purpose to play later on, but for now she could not allow him to tag along. It would be inappropriate. When the time was right, she would find him. In the meantime, she had her own mission to complete, and it had a very strict timeline.

For more than a week, she had experienced a string of prophecies from her dreams, which foretold of a new role that she must play. Though the job seemed mundane, its function was so important that the fate of the world stood in the balance.

She was to be a messenger, but her message required the help of the Circle of Eight. She needed to reach them before missing the window of opportunity. However, given recent delays, she figured a better approach might be to contact them remotely. Fortunately, Lagash's Wizard's Guild had the scrying capabilities. And she hoped that, while there, she might also learn more about the strange phenomenon that had almost killed her the previous night.

The Guild was north of the city, inside a tower nestled along the banks of the Lienne River. It was not the largest in the world, but it was nice-looking and came with an adequately-ranked library. Anja traveled through a path in the woods just outside of town. It ran along the cliffs of a gorge, which Anja followed until she reached the great obsidian structure.

The stone had been quarried from volcanoes in the mountains of Ur, and magic had molded it into a mighty obelisk. The only entrance was located on the precipice more than fifty spans above ground level. The wizards placed it there quite intentionally, since they did not want curious commoners stopping by who had no business there.

Despite still reeling from her injury, Anja used her magic to create a vortex of air that lifted her gracefully to the entrance. It came as no surprise when a man in black robes materialized from the black stone, prepared to block her entrance until she passed his scrutiny. He must have recognized her quickly, though, since he bowed his head and muttered an apology.

"Forgive us, Lady Black. Recent events have made us cautious. We did not expect a visitor of your eminence."

"Think nothing of it, Julien," she called him by name. Names were especially easy for Diviners to pluck from the aether. "I bear important news and wish to speak with the guild leadership."

Julien nodded. "Our colleagues are in conference, Madam, but I'm sure they'd be willing to defer their agenda for someone of your import."

The answer was acceptable. "Lead the way," she instructed.

Julien walked straight through the tower's dark stone wall. A hidden portal took him inside, and Anja followed. She arrived in a circular room made of the same obsidian stone. Along the perimeter, blocks of stone jutted upward in the shape of chairs, each one carefully molded by magic to be both functional and comfortable.

The seats contained mostly men, three dozen split evenly between white and black affinities. She also counted four women, an improvement from the last time she visited the male dominated country, though not nearly enough.

"Greetings, Anja," a man announced with a deep voice.

His face was hidden within the shrouds of a hood, but Lady Black knew him well. "It has been a long time, Alexi."

The man removed his hood to expose a thin middle-aged face with white and black goatee. "I'm surprised you made it so far, given last night's events. I take it you traveled from Rungholt?"

Anja stood in the room's center, inside a circle of pale light. The position offered her a clear view of each of the surrounding wizards, while the room's shape projected her voice with superior clarity.

"I came to Vineta for unrelated reasons and arrived in Lagash this morning. However, based on your implication, I must now presume that last night's event was not a localized occurrence."

"Far from it." The response came from Alexi's right, a man whom Anja sensed held considerable rank within the guild. His name was Liam, and if Alexi was Grand Wizard, this man must be second in the chain of command.

"Wizards all across Gaia lost their connections to magic for about thirty-seven seconds," he explained. "It began fourteen minutes after dusk."

Anja's body stiffened. It was not a cringe. She did not typically cringe. However, the news confirmed her worst fears. "Then it is true. The Aether itself has ruptured."

There was a murmur in the room, but Alexi quieted it with a wave of his hand. "Now, now, we all know she speaks of the Zohar. Those in the East are loath to utter its name, but that is what you meant, isn't it, Anja?"

Lady Black hesitated to defend her use of the term. Indeed, she had avoided its name out by habit. But in Vineta, denying the Zohar was considered heresy. Nonetheless, it seemed that Alexi's question was merely rhetorical. He did not go on to challenge her.

Instead, he answered her original question. "The answer is no. The Zohar has not fully ruptured. Otherwise, we'd be in heaps of trouble, as you well know. However, you should consider it to have been a sizable disturbance."

Murmurs returned.

"Which means," Alexi spoke over his cohorts until they hushed. "We believe the aftereffects will last for quite some time. You should have felt these already, Anja. Isn't that so?"

Lady Black spoke candidly. After all, the room was already well aware of the truth. "My powers have weakened, I admit. And I suspect yours have as well?"

"Indeed," Liam broke in. "The same is true all over the world, at least as far as we know. We've contacted many locations, but since our powers have been compromised, our portals cannot extend everywhere. The Southern Content, for example, is still unreachable."

"What about the clerics? What have they to say?" Anja cut to the chase, but her statement took the fervor out of the room. The silence was unnerving. "Have you not spoken to your closest colleagues? Those most intimate with Zohar lore?"

Alexi adjusted his robes. "Anja … about the events of last night …."

Again, the guild leader lost control of his colleagues. A symphony of voices erupted.

"A tsunami!"

"They were all wiped out."

"Crashed into the ocean."

"Some say Apocalypsis!"

"Silence!" A tiny muscle spasming on Alexi's forehead illustrated his anger. His brow continued to twitch as he spoke. "I demand order!"

When the room quieted, he continued in his previous mild manner. "I'll summarize what we know, Anja."

He then described a mammoth-sized airship that scouts had detected in the skies south of Vineta. Magical resonance waves followed, which closely matched the theories surrounding Apocalypsis. Shortly thereafter, the airship crashed into the Great Ocean and sent a massive tsunami along the southern coast, wiping out everything in its path. Alexi's guild was unable to contact the clerics, so he had assumed the Circle had been compromised. Anja sighed deeply. The Circle was so crucial to completing her mission ….

Even so, their demise was not certain. The only thing the Guild knew for sure was that the Zohar had been disrupted. It was the first incident ever recorded, but it matched all of the theories. The rest of the world would surely look for other explanations, but those in Vineta had a head start in understanding the root cause.

Something had clearly severed the magical connections of wizards all around the world. But if it were truly intrinsic, and wizards drew their powers from within—as most of the world believed—then nothing could have affected all wizards simultaneously. But it had, and now Anja was armed with this fact and ready to debunk competing theories. She had all the knowledge and experience to explain the previous night's events, as well as the mysteries surrounding her visions.

She could still visualize the barren world, filled with spawn and undead creatures walking toward a great spire that reached toward the Heavens. The disaster in Anja's vision was the result of a rupture of the Zohar, which thankfully had not yet happened. But if it had, the world of Gaia would have ended up as a dead planet, bereft of the basic elements of life. Fire would no longer burn, earth would fail to nourish plants, water would dry up, and air would become toxic and unbreathable. The connection to the Zohar made all life possible. And without it, Gaia was nothing more than a hunk of lifeless rock.

Anja's vision proved that the tower was the key. And she knew that one man was destined to find this tower, a former Gnostic Knight named Abraham Morrison. Her only hope of saving Gaia from Armageddon was to inform Bram of his duty to defend this tower from the next Zohar disruption, or else all life in the world would be doomed.

Anja's problem was that she had no access to Bram and did not know where to find him. However, she knew from her visions that he would soon contact the Circle of Eight, and she had to be there before that happened. Unfortunately, the guild had lost contact with the clerics, and now she had to ride westward before Bram's meeting concluded. Only a short time remained, but the guild might still be able to help her. She just needed to get their blessing.

"You are correct," she finally confirmed for Alexi. "It was indeed Apocalypsis."

A choir of gasps resounded. Not because Lady Black had told them something they did not already know. Rather, it was because she was an outsider who did not share their core beliefs. And yet, she acted as though her knowledge exceeded their guild-master.

Granted, her reputation was held in high regard, even in Vineta, but she felt it was still worth expounding on her credibility.

"Hear me, Brothers and Sisters," she proclaimed. "By reputation, I am considered the most powerful black wizard on the northern continent. But, you should all know what has earned me this title."

She made eye contact with each of the skeptics in the room.

"As a child, my body's natural production of manna set records. My parents understood my gifts and had the means to send me to the best schools, provided private lessons, and I never missed an opportunity to expand my arts. I am now ninety-six years old, but to many I appear to be a woman sixty years younger. This has given me time to research more in my lifetime than any in this room, or beyond. I say these things not to boast, but to establish my credibility, so that none of you shall doubt what I am about to say."

For once, the room was deathly silent. The guild had given her their attention, and she was ready to begin.

"Apocalypsis is a spell that—until recently—existed only in theory. But to understand how it works, you must be familiar with the concept of magical density."

"I am familiar with this concept," Alexi offered. "As students, we are taught to maximize the strength of our spells by fully utilizing the space in front of us: roughly a cone, originating from the caster, three spans long by three spans wide. We fill this space with as much magical energy as the spell needs, with certain spells requiring more energy. The more energy, the higher the density, until the point where it reaches the limit of the individual caster."

"Correct," Anja commended. "It takes strength and practice to fill the space with larger amounts of magical energy. And yet, there are certain spells that will always be out of reach, since each of us has our own limits. Even powerful wizards do not test these limits, for the result would be to burn out and lose his or her powers."

"Yes, yes, of course," Liam interjected, sounding impatient. "We all know that wizards burn out from attempting spells beyond their reach. Sometimes it's temporary, and sadly, sometimes it's permanent. Happens to novices all the time. But we've all learned this in the first year of Wizarding School. What's your point?"

"It is the basis of my argument," Anja explained. "Humor me, and I shall soon reveal my point."

"Yes, let her continue," Alexi chided.

Liam crossed his arms and sank back in his chair. He clearly did not appreciate the reprimand, but Anja seized her chance to continue.

"Because wizards will avoid experiments that push their powers to the limit, few have attempted arcane spells that are predicted to require great amounts of energy, such as Apocalypsis. In fact, the theories predict an order of magnitude more energy than any other known spell."

"But, the theories must be wrong," Alexi argued. "What else could have registered in our readings last night, if not Apocalypsis?"

"Indeed," Anja conceded. "I believe it was Apocalypsis, but my point is that research is limited. No wizard has attempted the spell for fear of burning out, so it should be of no surprise that the theories have made a simple but profound mistake. I believe the calculations were never meant to predict total magical energy, but rather total magical _density_."

Murmurs sprung forth, but the loudest came from Liam. "But what difference does it make? Total energy or energy density … it's all the same!"

"Not at all," Alexi argued, who also battled with his colleagues for volume. "For most spells requiring total energy output, it makes sense to maximize the entire field in front of us. However, if our goal were to maximize _density_ , we would instead focus our energy into a much smaller space."

"Precisely," Anja praised. The room quieted as they began to understand her implication. "I possess an old journal. It is among my most prized assets. Inside, a group of wizards wrote about a series of experiments in a field they called high-density magic."

Alexi and Liam both leaned forward. Anja saw hunger in their eyes, and she knew she had their attention. "Their most famous experiment involved twelve of them focusing their powers into a space smaller than what one can see with the naked eye. The density was so great that it sent powerful shockwaves across their laboratory. Meanwhile, the thirteenth wizard took careful observations. Among the most noteworthy was what he described as, 'a shearing of space itself.' "

Alexi almost fell out of his chair. "That's incredible!"

Liam's raised brows and curious look suggested that he still had not figured it out.

Alexi decided to help t. "Don't you see? These wizards had actually found a way to observe the Zohar itself! Think of DeVille's theorem, which predicts that the Zohar exists as a parallel world, separated from ours by a thin invisible surface stretching across the Universe."

Liam's eyes lit up. "So you think this 'shearing of space' had actually been a physical tear between these parallel worlds?"

"Say it louder for those in back," a voice pleaded from the far corner. "What surface are you referring to, and where is it located?"

Alexi tried to explain. "It's not an observable surface. We can't touch it or physically interact with it. However, it seems that high-density magic is capable of tearing a hole through it, thus providing a means to access the other side."

"Correct." Anja nodded firmly. She elaborated for the sake of others. "Think of our Universe as a bubble, and high-density magic is capable of producing a small tear in its surface. Through that tear, the forces of the outside can now enter the inside."

"But … what's on the outside?" the same wizard asked from within the crowd.

Lady Black addressed the wizard with a tilt of her head. "Why, the Zohar, of course."

Alexi's eyes were distant, lost in his own epiphany. "I can't believe it. All these years, and it took an outsider to finally crack the code."

This time, Liam was in sync. "Our Zohar isn't an aether at all. It's an outside realm whose energy ebbs into our Universe by osmosis. The manna produced by our bodies is the mechanism for drawing this energy in small amounts, which oozes through the bubble-surface of our Universe. And once it's at our disposal, our gestures and incantations direct it toward the desired magical effect."

He grinned widely. "Of course, it might be more accurate at this point to call it science, rather than magic."

Voices erupted as the rest of the wizards finally understood. The din was joyous in its undertone as one of the greatest wizarding mysteries had finally been solved—unexpectedly—within their very own enclave! Many sounded eager to repeat the same experiment.

Unfortunately, Anja had words of caution that would soon dampen their enthusiasm. "What you have stated is correct based on my understanding. However, it is of utmost importance that you heed this warning."

She spoke over the voices, and very quickly the room gave her their undivided attention. "After the experiment, the wizards analyzed the area around the tear. What they described was a 'bruise' that remained as an aftereffect. For quite some time, any magic cast around this area was observed to have reduced efficacy."

Alexi jumped in to finish the thought. "It's as if the Zohar no longer passed normally through the damaged area. This must be what it means when the Zohar is disrupted."

Anja nodded. "Yes. For this reason, high-density magic is quite dangerous. Once the surface of our Universe has been damaged, it takes time to repair. And, should careless wizards produce multiple tears, I fear it would cause permanent damage. It would certainly lead to what you call a 'rupture' of the Zohar."

Alexi projected his voice loudly in proclamation. "Indeed, we thank you, Anja, for this warning. For wizards in Vineta, the Zohar is precious, and it's our sacred duty to prevent others from endangering life with such a rupture. So, let me be perfectly clear to all in this room: Henceforth, high-density magic is forbidden. Not only that, but we shall also keep these discoveries secret, so that others are not tempted to produce similar experiments."

The grand wizard's ruling was followed by many nods. However, Liam still had more to say. "I was thinking about Apocalypsis."

The old wizard looked on the verge of a breakthrough. "If the ultimate spell of black magic was truly behind last night's events, then it must have produced a very large tear in the fabric of the Universe—large enough to cover the entire planet. However, our theories state that it should be impossible to summon that much energy … until the concept of high-density magic, that is. But, even if we concentrated all our energy into a very small space, we wouldn't be able to create that kind of damage."

Anja nodded. "Yes, but Apocalypsis does not derive its strength from the spell itself. Rather, it is powered by the energy accessed through the tear that it produces. The realm of the Zohar contains limitless energy, all of which enters our world in the form of boundless destructive damage. That is precisely why Apocalypsis is so formidable."

"That's insane!" one of the wizards in back cried.

More followed.

"Who was this wizard?"

"How could they have been so irresponsible?"

"Where are they now?"

"Silence!" Alexi used his magic to produce a man-sized rock, which he hurled at the stone wall. The shattering noise quelled the debate. "We must show discipline, brothers and sisters! Lady Black can only answer one question at a time."

Anja clarified. "I do not know the wizard involved. It is possible that he or she did not understood the consequences. But, regardless, I have no more to say about last night's events. All I would like is to request a favor from the Guild."

Alexi responded eagerly. "You'll have our full cooperation. Just tell us what you need, and it shall be yours."

Anja was pleased. Her gifts of knowledge had been well received. "I must reach the Circle of Eight in Kish," she explained. "My visions have foretold a far greater disruption in the Zohar, but one that I believe can be prevented, with the clerics' help."

Alexi's eyes went wide. "Well, why didn't you say so, Anja? We'll grant you as many guildmembers as you need. We can head out to Kish immediately."

Anja shook her head. "Unfortunately, it cannot work that way. I have foreseen the way forward, and it does not involve a retinue of guildsmen from Lagash. I believe you must remain here."

Alexi and Liam stared at one another, as if to check whether they both agreed. Alexi spoke first. "I believe we can trust in your visions, Anja. We will stay out of your way. However, please let us know what we can do to make your journey faster."

"A pair of mounts," she responded, "as well as some supplies. It would save me the trouble and the coin of getting them myself."

"Yes, of course," Alexi agreed. "You'll have our full blessing and cooperation."

Anja nodded, and the conference of the Lagash Wizard's Guild concluded.

* * *

 _..._

* * *

Konrad was unhappy to find Lady Black's room empty when he woke. She had left a note with the innkeeper explaining her intent to visit the local Wizard's Guild, but failed to offer any kind of timetable. Konrad understood the need for answers to last night's events, but he would have appreciated an expected departure time. Instead, Lady Black had left everything up in the air.

He had hoped to leave at sunup and make it to Kish by High Sun, but now he had no idea when he would arrive. His sleep had already been made restless with worries over current delays, and now he was falling even further behind!

So he decided to leave a note of his own. It explained to Lady Black that she could find him around town while he worked on finding his own answers. He doubted that he could do better than the venerable wizardress, but at least he could gather rumors from the local townsfolk, which was preferable to sitting idle. So he mingled among the Vinetan locals, asking them about any strange phenomenon. And what he learned gave him even more reason to worry.

One of the stories involved strange murders near the border with the Elflands. Apparently, survivors described spawn with shiny metallic skin, hard enough to resist the sharpest steel. Others suggested these monsters had originated from inside the Elflands. Those reports described so-called ghost villages, in which thousands of Elfen residents went missing without a trace.

Besides these new spawn, Konrad also learned about the strange light in the sky from last night. Apparently, it came from a huge fireball, which flew across the sky and landed in the Great Ocean, creating a mighty tsunami that flooded the southern coastline.

Konrad cringed at the news. Kish was on the southern coast, in the direct path of the disaster. Fortunately, Master Brandt was under the cleric's care and inside their well-fortified hospital. However, major floods might have forced the prince to flee the Nexus' protection, and due to his injured state he would have been vulnerable to all kinds of danger!

Konrad felt an ulcer forming as he sat through multiple villagers' stories. At one point, he had to close his eyes. He was half-upset with the news and half-finding solace with shutting off the outside world. It felt good just to concentrate for a short time on what he should do next. In his brief reverie, he had half a mind to leave Lady Black and her wizards behind while he headed to Kish by himself!

However, he was shaken from his musings when a woman loudly cleared her throat. Not even the Specter of Death could have shaken him more.

"What is it?" he demanded harshly, angry at being startled. But he quickly realized that his visitor was none other than Lady Black.

"Not here." The sorceress grabbed him by the shoulder and led him down a side path. "Come. We must leave at once."

Konrad was all too happy to move on with the journey, but now he was confused over the sudden urgency. He wondered what Lady Black had learned, but he kept silent while she led him through the woods.

Eventually, the wizardress took him to a tree with two viscars tied to it. One of them tore its attention away from a wandering grasshopper to stare at Konrad. Its ears stood at attention. It leaned close and sniffed the air around his face. Konrad turned his head to avoid the foul smelling breath, and the viscar eventually lost interest and nibbled on a nearby tree branch.

Konrad was pleased that the mounts had already been purchased, though it implied no more warp gates or mirror worlds for the rest of the trip. That might be a good thing, if magic was becoming unstable. Then again, if Lady Black's magic had weakened, he worried if she could hold up against wild animals … or highwaymen … or—Goddess forbid—those silver-skinned spawn!

Her firm matter-of-fact voice stole his attention. "We have all the necessary supplies and can leave at once. Is your tab paid at the inn?"

Konrad was caught off guard. He still wanted to know what Lady Black had learned. But first, he answered her question. "Ye—yes, though I had asked the innkeeper to hold our rooms, just in case you had reason to come back. So—"

"That will not be necessary," she cut him off. "We should ride immediately."

"Yes, but hold on!" Konrad planted his feet firmly on the ground. "I have a right to know why you left me behind and delayed our departure for hours. Yet, _now_ you want to rush off like a madwoman? What happened?"

Lady Black sighed as she climbed onto her mount. "Yes, I suppose I owe you an explanation. But, please wait until the city is behind us. It is not appropriate to have this discussion out in the open."

Lady Black's reasoning made sense. Konrad held his tongue until he passed beyond the farthest settlement and was well on the road to Kish.

True to her word, Lady Black summarized her findings from the Lagash Wizard's Guild, which included powerful spells of black magic, tears in the fabric of space, and how it would all lead to the end of the world unless she reached Kish in time. By the end, Konrad was sorry he had asked.

Most of the explanation had gone over his head, but there was one thing that stood out: Bram Morrison was the key to preventing the disaster of Lady Black's vision, and nothing in the world was more important than delivering a certain very important message to him.

Lady Black believed that the clerics of Kish would soon make contact with Sir Morrison, which was why she made such haste. Fortunately, Konrad expected the viscars to make it to the coastal city before dusk, well before the expected contact with Sir Morrison. At least, assuming no more delays ….

Konrad covered his ears suddenly. An ear-splitting howl shook him to the very bones. He barely had time to reach for the reins before his viscar took off in full sprint.

The momentum knocked him off balance, but he hung on tightly as his mount careened down the empty forest road. Another howl rocked the wooded corridor, so shrill that Konrad felt it in his teeth! By now, his mount was a lightning bolt, and all Konrad could do was hang on for dear life.

His grip grew weak, but he dared not let go. A third howl off to the side caused his mount to stop fast, hurdling Konrad over its head and through the air. He eventually landed with a painful thud on the dirt road.

He was disoriented, with stars sparkling in his vision. Though not seriously injured, he was still afraid to move. He had no clear view of the area and no way to tell if some evil abomination was searching for him, ready to feast on his flesh as soon as he gave it a moving target.

He shook his head, knowing such thoughts were utter nonsense. Now was his best chance to assess the area, find a place to hide, or at least get out of the open. He needed to find his courage!

Slowly, he turned his head to get a view of the forest path. It was clear, giving him some confidence to stand. But as soon as he was on his feet, he was hit by a blast of heat from an explosion just beyond the tree line. A series of redwoods deep in the forest went up in flames as Lady Black bolted out of the woods.

"Run," she advised as she leapt past him.

Konrad did not hesitate. He joined the wizardress in full sprint, stopping not once to look behind him.

Several minutes later, when his muscles burned like hot coals and his feet felt like lead plates, he slowed to a hobbling pace. His heart beat so fast that he heard his own pulse behind his ears. He struggled with each breath, drawing a wheeze on the way in and a gasp on the way out. He was lightheaded, ready to pass out, when Lady Black led him off the main path.

"I do not believe they pursue us any longer," she assured. "Even so, it would be wise to remain out of plain sight."

Konrad could not agree more. He held his arms above his head to facilitate breathing. He eventually spoke in a whisper between heavy breaths. "What … in Gaia's name …? Was it … the silver-skinned spawn?"

"I did not see the creatures clearly," Lady Black admitted. "But I caught their shapes as they ran behind the trees. The explosion was meant to distract them while I cast the necessary enchantments. Fortunately, I believe my subversion worked, and they will not follow us."

Konrad would have sighed with relief if he had the breath to do so. Instead, he put what little he had toward speaking. "So … we keep moving?"

Lady Black nodded. "It is another unfortunate delay, but we can still make it by morning. Only if we keep on moving."

Konrad hoped so, but he let Lady Black worry about that. He already had more on his mind than he could take. He worried about the prince, Unruh's assassins, and how he might survive the ride home. There was no more emotional fortitude left to spare for fireballs, destructive tsunamis, and silver-skinned spawn—let alone bruises in the fabric of the Universe. He just wanted to find Master Brandt and take him to a viable safe house, before it was too late. For Konrad, these were the only things he could do, and thus the only things that mattered.

As for the hike, it was long and painful. But he kept moving forward as the afternoon sun sank behind the trees and the shadows ran long. The road was surprisingly empty, which was no wonder, given all the spawn. The creatures had proven to be a serious threat, and no doubt most travelers had already wizened up.

After hours of trudging forward, Konrad's legs cramped up and he needed a second break. Lady Black allowed him to stop for a bit to massage his legs, but he hardly sat down for more than a moment when her firm voice got his attention.

"Mister Rommel!"

His head spun to where she pointed. At the furthest point in the road, he saw what appeared to be a trail of people. At least they were not spawn, but the way they limped along made it appear that they were injured.

"Come," Lady Black ordered. "I suggest we find out what happened."

Konrad first assumed survivors of nearby villages attacked by the silver-skinned spawn, but he soon realized that they were more than that. These people were caked in mud and blood, which meant that they were more likely tsunami survivors who had lost their homes. Indeed, they were refugees on a march to the capital.

Konrad approached one of the men in front. "Sir, could you tell me where you are from?"

With a dejected look on his face, the man passed by without saying a word. Konrad's heart skipped a beat. The man's eyes told of unspeakable hardships.

There were dozens more, perhaps even hundreds. They trudged past Konrad on all sides, and soon he was surrounded. They were like an army of zombies: dead souls limping forward, fixated only on their next step, faces without expression.

He tried to get the attention of another man. "Sir, a moment of your time. Please."

Given the cold shoulder, he turned to another. "Madam …."

The woman grabbed the child at her side and scurried along. Konrad was amazed and saddened. It was an entire swarm of people, and not one of them was willing to spare even a moment to speak.

"What are you doing, bothering these people?" an angry voice demanded from behind.

Konrad turned to meet an elderly man with an unkempt beard. His eyes were crazed and bloodshot, and he carried a foul stench. Even so, Konrad was happy that at least one person was willing to speak with him.

He bumbled out an apology. "S—sorry, I—I just wanted to ask a few questions. Please, sir."

"Well, out with it, then!"

Konrad had to keep pace with the irritated old man, since he never slowed his march.

"We shouldn't be lingering, you know," the man said. "The name's Charles. Not that it matters."

Konrad seized his opening. "Where are you from? What happened? Why is everyone injured?"

"Slow down," Charles demanded. "Can't you ask one question at a time, like a normal person?"

Konrad was ready with another apology when Charles cut him off. "We're from bergs and villages along the southern coast. Everything down there was destroyed. All of it! Thousands dead. Family, neighbors, loved ones …. If you know what in the Burning Pits caused it, we'd sure like to know."

"I—I …"

Konrad trailed off. Yes, he knew the cause, but somehow it did not feel right explaining the details to Charles. Besides, the old man looked eager to end the conversation and return to his march.

Charles scoffed. "Humph, doesn't seem like you know much of anything. Doesn't matter. My life is finished, anyway. I might as well have been killed by those silver-skinned spawn, just like the rest of my family. We're sitting ducks out here in the open, don't you know that, boy?"

Konrad gasped. "We were attacked, too! But we managed to escape."

He realized as he said it that Lady Black was nowhere in sight. It was just him and Charles, by themselves, in the middle of a refugee river passing on both sides.

"Well, lucky you." Charles' tone was condescending. "We weren't so fortunate. They came out of the forest, grabbed small children and other things that were easy to carry, and took them back with them. We tried to stop them, but we stood no chance. Few survive an attack against those creatures. We need to find a place with better defenses. Like Lagash. And if I were you, I'd turn and head back to the capital before they get you, too!"

Konrad's jaw quivered. "Please, one last question. Are any of you from Kish? Do you know if there are survivors?"

Charles rolled his eyes. "Pfft, naw. I'm from Kish. Didn't I mention that? The whole place was wiped out."

Konrad's knees went weak. He tried to swallow past the knot in his throat. "What? No survivors?"

Charles looked insulted that Konrad would force him to repeat himself. "I didn't do a roll call, dammit, but I got a good look at the aftermath. Every home in the village was washed away, along with half the trees. It's nothing but a pile of mud right now. Go on ahead and see for yourself. But take it from me. If there were survivors, they're either here with us, or they got carried off by the spawn."

He paused for a bit, as if holding back a tear, then added, "I gotta go …."

Charles marched faster in an attempt to join his fellow refugees. Konrad felt as if he had just been stabbed in the gut. He wondered if the old man had it right, and the disaster was worse than he had imagined. Master Brandt could already be dead, killed by the tsunami or carried off by the spawn.

But then Konrad felt a spark of hope. The prince might actually be among the refugees!

Feeling elated, he weaved in between the river of people, trying desperately to catalogue their faces. But there were just too many. He backtracked a bit, forcing his way up front, trying not to miss a single face. But there was no sign of Master Brandt anywhere. All the while, he grew more frantic.

He was moments away from a full-fledged panic. The prince's safety was the whole reason for his journey. If the heir were dead, there was no point moving forward. Without a legitimate member of the Brandt family to challenge Unruh's leadership, the surrogate king was untouchable. Konrad's choice to embark on this journey had been his own death sentence!

He was only jarred back to reality when a firm hand grabbed him by the shoulder. He recognized that touch, which forced him to look into a set of very commanding eyes.

"Józef Brandt is alive," Lady Black insisted, in a manner that left no room for debate. "But he is not here. You must move forward."

Lady Black had saved him from his spiral of madness. He was usually able to think more objectively, but the pressure this time was just too much. He wanted to see the prince alive and well, and prove that those thoughts in the back of his mind were irrational. But for the time being, he had to trust in the wizardress.

"No more breaks," she declared. Though her voice was harsh, her eyes held compassion. "We survive by staying ahead of the dangers."

There was wisdom in her suggestion, so Konrad nodded. His legs would hate him later, but he needed to keep moving if he was to make it to Kish by dawn.

* * *

 _..._

* * *

Józef just finished dressing Madam Muller's arm with a clean bandage. It was almost morning, and this was one of his new duties since volunteering for the clerics. Nursing was in high demand, given the large numbers of injured patients. It also made Józef feel needed, and it felt better than lying in bed feeling sorry for himself.

Madam Muller liked to talk. And she treated him like a kind stranger, since he never revealed his identity to her. Most people treated him differently when they learned he was heir to the Brandt family. Sometimes, they would be overly nice, even though he knew it was an act. They did it because they wanted something in return. Other times, they would avoid him altogether, as if his birth status was off-putting. But, when he played the part of a stranger, it always made people more comfortable around him, and they were more likely to be themselves.

This was certainly true for Madam Muller, who trusted Józef to a very sad and personal story. He learned that she had lost her husband during the tsunami, a man with whom she had been married for more than thirty years—twice Józef's age! She had also lost a couple of dogs, some chickens, and a vegetable garden that had always produced the most delicious squash and tomatoes.

At least she still held onto some good memories: places that she and Hugo used to travel—that was her husband's name—humorous quirks and personalities of their dogs, and the squirrels their dogs used to chase, much to the chagrin of their neighbors. The fact that it was all gone made it all the more poignant. It was not the first time Józef had been exposed to loss, but this time it really meant something. This time, it affected him.

Now Madam Muller had a problem: where to go next. Her arm was treated and would begin to heal on its own, so she no longer needed to be an in-patient. She had missed the mass exodus of refugees, which would have been the best time to leave. Now she would need to find another set of travelers for protection. Sadly, staying in Kish was not an option. The Nexus was only up and running temporarily. It had no running water, no functioning plumbing, and the food storage was rapidly dwindling.

Another option was to wait until the last few people left Kish. Even the clerics had to go, eventually. Józef planned to do the same, though he knew the last few days would require a bit of hard work and preparation. Then, the Nexus would be shuttered. The only building left in Kish would remain an empty shell, the last reminder of a once beautiful city.

As for where Józef would go next … he had yet to figure that out. On the bright side, it was finally his chance to be free of the titles and responsibilities that he detested—especially the political backstabbing. He knew that Unruh had been behind his original kidnapping. But he had no proof, and there was little he could do about it. He remembered sending an appeal to Konrad a few days earlier, but it would take weeks before his warden reached him in Kish. And by then, no one would be left. So it only made sense for Józef to take care of himself.

"How are we doing today, Józef?" asked the surgeon who had quickly become Józef's new best friend.

"Doing just fine, Isaac," he responded. "Just fixing up the Madam's arm. How does it feel?"

She stared with wonder at Józef's handiwork. "You did a splendid job, dear. I've never seen a gentler or kinder nurse. You remind me of my nephew."

"Denise, I'm sorry to interrupt." Isaac put on his finest smile. "But could I borrow Józef for a bit?"

"Yes, of course!" Madam Muller agreed. "I should not have stolen so much of his time. If it were up to me, I'd talk his ear off all night."

She very nearly did, but her smile and gratitude made it well worth it. After saying farewell, he followed Isaac through the halls of the hospital, using a pair of crutches that Isaac had given him. He still had trouble standing on his own, but with some help, he managed. He had to take care not to slip on the mud, though. The hospital's once-pristine marble floors had layers of earth and footprints from all the passersby. No one bothered to clean up anymore, which was a pity. He still saw remnants of fantastic patterns underneath.

"Where are we going?" Józef asked the spectacled cleric.

Isaac stopped to adjust his rims. "Oh … I suppose I forgot to mention it, but you have visitors. They've requested that I bring you to them."

For a moment, Józef's heart stood still. He was not expecting anyone, and he wondered for a moment if it might be Unruh's men out to get him. Then again, Isaac would have been more careful. At least, Józef hoped so.

He felt vulnerable, but then a familiar voice called out from across the grand atrium. "Your Majesty!"

Józef was taken aback when a very frantic Konrad rushed over, only to sink to his knees and grovel for mercy. "Goddess, forgive me! I should have never left your side. I am to blame for your injuries. Please excuse my failures, Milord. I accept any repudiation—"

Józef suspected that if he did not intervene, Konrad would go on like that for the rest of the day. So he put both crutches in one hand and used the other to pull his old friend his feet. "Get up, Konrad. You are embarrassing me."

Konrad looked confused. "B—but, Your Majesty … your face … y—your scars … y—your feet!" He gestured at Józef's missing toes, which had been removed as part of his surgery.

It was wonderful having Konrad back, but the reunion was tempered by all the fretting. The Primary Minister always took his job too seriously, which made it harder for Józef to take him seriously.

"Please, do not remind me," the prince begged. "I see them each day." It was painful just thinking about them. "The scars are a reminder not to trust my life to strangers …."

A woman behind Konrad cleared her throat. To Józef's surprised, it was Lady Black. She was the last person he expected to see. The mysteriously reclusive wizardress of Rungholt, now ostensibly traveling with Konrad. It was a strange sight.

"I suggest we leave the prince and his guardian to become reacquainted," she proposed to nearby Isaac. "As mentioned, I have urgent matters to discuss with the clerical leadership."

"Yes, well …" Isaac paused as if to find the right words. "They are currently in the process of building a communications portal to speak with the Gaian priests of Minoa."

The wizardress arched her brows. "Oh? That sounds rather difficult, given the recent disturbance with the Zohar."

Isaac's eyes went wide. "You know about that?"

Lady Black, nonchalant as always, answered the question with a question. "I suppose you would appreciate some help constructing your portal? I know wizards in Kish tend to focus on white magic, but good portals are usually built with the help of both affinities."

Isaac looked overjoyed, but Józef wondered if Lady Black's appearance was more than just serendipity. She was not usually one to volunteer to help.

But the cleric seemed happy to accept anyway. He practically clapped his hands with joy. "Yes, please! I'll take you to the others immediately."

He rushed off, but not before shouting a message to Józef over his shoulder. "Send for me if you need anything."

"Of course," Józef shouted back, but his surgeon friend had already merged back into the hallway of passersby.

This left Józef alone with Konrad, which was nice and comforting after all he had been through, but there was something awkward about it. It was reminiscent of many good old days, when Konrad would catch Józef after weeks of freedom from his studies and obligations, and he would need to act penitent as he returned home. But this time was different.

Konrad looked like a wreck. The old disciplinarian used to be strict and authoritative, but now he wore the face of a puppy dog who had gotten into trouble. He practically groveled with apologies, yet he had nothing to be sorry about. It certainly did not make Józef feel any safer, when his guardian looked as if he could not protect anything.

The prince looked to either side. It was obvious that people were staring. It made him want to move somewhere more private. He was not yet ready to reveal that he was Prince of Kitezh, and he hoped Konrad would understand.

"Would you mind if we spoke in the courtyard?" he suggested. "It is a bit quieter there. People tend to avoid it due to the mud."

His old friend seemed in a daze. "Yes … mud. We saw plenty of it on the way in. But, fewer people means more privacy, I suppose. Even though it is freezing outside. What about your feet?"

Józef looked down at his toes. The ones left had survived frostbite, so he figured a bit of cool earth would not hurt them.

"They are fine," he asserted. "You want to talk, right? I have much to tell you."

He led Konrad to the courtyard, where they talked for hours. The sun and temperatures rose throughout the day, which made it a comfortable space. Józef told his old friend everything. Meanwhile, Konrad updated him on Rungholt since Unruh took power.

Józef was not comfortable hearing about the new surrogate king. It was obvious that Konrad had high aspirations to force a change in leadership, but the chances of that seemed nigh impossible. Unruh would never give up the throne so easily. He would do everything in his power to discredit Józef's claim, stop or delay his return, and convince the Ministry that his stability was most important during times of war. And if these did not work, he would not hesitate to send his assassins.

Going up against this mad king sounded like nuts. "Are you really serious, Konrad?"

The man had never been so serious. "I know it sounds insurmountable, Your Majesty, but I can protect you. I know it. And we have a chance, once we make it back to Rungholt. More than you know are still loyal to the Brandt family. If we can survive the return trip, then we can seek sanctuary close to the city and begin a public hearing regarding your claim to the crown."

Józef was overwhelmed. He did not care about the crown. He was tired of running and just wanted to find somewhere to hide in peace. Unruh could keep the burning crown for all he cared. Just as long as that weasel left him alone!

But for Konrad, the crown meant something different. His face pleaded for support. It conveyed duty and loyalty, and Józef felt these burdens like never before. He could not help but nod and accept his fate.

"Yes, Konrad, I shall," he conceded. "I always knew I could depend on you."

It was half-hearted for sure, but he was the heir of the Brandt family. Apparently, that meant something to some people. He just wished he could choose to walk away, instead. Someday, perhaps.


	36. Chapter 10, Part IV

**.**

* * *

 **Part IV**

 _Morning of Primoris, Sixth Day of Duskmoon_

* * *

Cedric monitored the _Heron's_ engine all night long to ensure his fuel would last the whole trip. He was practically on his last lump of coal when his instruments registered the coordinates for the Minoan village. Eager to leave the stuffy engine room and look for a place to land, he took to the deck. Almost immediately, he received an influx of familiar smells. The sweet scent of quality hay wafted to his nose, along with earthy aromas of freshly turned soil and floral fragrances of grape and apple blossom.

They brought back good memories. Some of his earliest, in fact. Long before his father founded his successful shipping business, Miles Curtis had roamed the Northern Continent as a nomad, unemployed and homeless. Even so, he always made sure his son had a roof overhead.

Some days, he worked the fields for local farmers in exchange for a night in the barn. Young Cedric had always felt most comfortable on those nights. The alternative, of course, was odd-end jobs in the city. Urban pay was better, but Cedric had always found the people there to be rancorous and surly. Poverty-stricken neighborhoods and soiled surroundings bred crime and sickness, and the crowded hostels made such a young boy feel unsafe. But, as long as he was in the quiet environment of a barn, even among subtle scents of rot and manure, he could sleep soundly.

He supposed that was why—to this day—he could tolerate those smells while the rest of Angkor's snobby elite would have turned green at the first whiff. Cedric had always been different from them, even as he caught up to their wealth and prestige later in life. Then again, he never thought the mansions or clothes made him who he was.

He smiled as a sunbeam warmed his face. It was almost summertime in the southern hemisphere, and farmers were busy tending their fields. As he hovered over Minoa's rolling plains, he searched for empty plots, hoping for something far away from crops or wandering livestock. However, the process was taking longer than expected, and he was still conscious of the fuel situation. It seemed that Minoa's farms had sprawled haphazardly, covering every scrap of arable land.

He supposed it was to be expected. The Minoan priesthood was notoriously lax on regulations and had no desire to perform the role of government. Their village was formed by refugees that had fled the Northern Continent, forming a community without advance planning or consideration. The clergy had naught to offer but Gaia's teachings on compassion and humility, but they left their flock to govern themselves. As a result, the people divvied up land based on a common set of fairness principles, and the results spoke for themselves.

Cedric had never been to Minoa, but he had learned all about it from reading books. One of these was a catalogue of distant regions written by a world-renowned traveler and author. The craftsman had always wanted to visit these far-away lands, but as ironic as it sounded for the inventor of flight, he had always been too busy with work. His job consumed every moment of his time, and the only way to keep up with politics and current events was to read published works.

He had just finished the latest in the series about a month ago. It had once stood prominently on a shelf in his study, ready to be referenced if he ever found himself in an adventurous mood, late after work with a brandy in hand.

Although, now these books laid at the bottom of a ditch, along with his manor house and the rest of Angkor's Inner Sanctum. It was another melancholy reminder of his old life, which he was happy to set aside, now that he was part of Bram's team. His new journey finally gave him his long sought-after chance to travel. All he needed was to survive the upcoming ordeals of monsters and demons long enough to enjoy it.

A sigh escaped his lips. Survivability was not always within his control, and he did not want to spend much time thinking about it, either. What mattered now was landing his craft within the maze of fields and dusty roads. When he looked over the _Heron's_ railing from his height of a thousand spans and squinted just right, he saw tiny ant-sized villagers performing their daily chores.

For a moment, he worried they might remember Bram's first trip to Minoa and be frightened. It was not that long ago that an Angkorian airship and its Gnostic Knight captain landed in their fields and wreaked havoc.

But, much to Cedric's surprise, his fears were unfounded. When the _Heron_ finally did land, Bram's crew was met with a surprisingly warm welcome. A friendly envoy of villagers had gathered around the ship's exit ramp wearing eager smiles, as if they knew precisely whom to expect.

Before Cedric had time to wonder, the crowd came face to face with their Knight and Savior. Sure enough, Bram looked the part. The sunlight fell on his bright silver armor, creating a wide halo along the ground. And the villagers fell in awe the moment they saw it. Before long, the crowd doubled, then tripled in size.

Cedric wished he could have captured the look on the Knight's face as they showered him with attention. Bram … the man who had stolen their sacred artifact and murdered their people was now a celebrity. Of course, the Knight had since transformed into their Sunstone Protector, and many accepted him as the only man capable of defeating the Ahrimen. As such, they wanted to give him a hero's welcome.

Cedric had expected Bram to feel more awkward than flattered. But, rather than shying away, the modest warrior seemed to take nourishment in the attention. The more the villagers piled it upon him, the more the Knight loosened up and devoured it. Perhaps, after all his recent grief and heartache, Bram was a simple man who needed to feel appreciated once in a while.

The villagers did not let up. Not even for a moment. As they directed him into town and toward the great Minoan temple, they pummeled him with questions about his adventures, begging for stories as if he were a traveling troubadour.

Had Cedric been in Bram's boots, he would have balked at such requests. He had been at the Knight's side for much of the past two weeks, and the reality had been neither glorious nor heroic—certainly, not the family-friendly content of a bard's tale. Multiple times, Bram had escaped with barely his life and soul intact. And even then it came with terrible losses. The great wizard Matthias had lost his life, beautiful Rosa ended up Marked, and even Bram's own brother ….

Despite all that, the Knight answered their questions happily. He was not paralyzed by awful memories, but rather retold the stories in a way that accentuated the positives. After all, he had succeeded in recovering Minoa's own Pisces Stone plus one other, escaped from King Richard's and Arcesilaus' evil clutches, and even managed to destroy the villain's base of operation.

Alas … poor _Zounds_ …. No one would offer Cedric accolades for his most accomplished work. Not that the craftsman cared more for a machine than for those who had lost their lives, but _Zounds_ was still very special to him.

People would never understand. It had been a labor of love—a child that only he could have conceived. Most never got a chance to be put on such an ambitious project, but Cedric was its progenitor, and he believed his technology could have changed the world. He had sacrificed countless hours and set aside all other ambitions, but in the end, his life's greatest achievement had become a damned tool for the enemy to squander. No one would give him credit for that.

Meanwhile, Bram was living in the limelight. More than the rest of his crew, anyway. Behind him, no one noticed Rosa's bleak look. Her expression was absolutely miserable. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes sallow, making Cedric worry that the curse had finally gotten to her.

Then again, it was probably not the sunstone's fault. After all, Rosa and Bram had been fighting, and tensions between them were obvious to everyone on board. It was most apparent after Kane's interrogation and Bram's subsequent meltdown. The Knight had put his lover into an insufferable position.

Sure, Rosa believed in Kane. That much was obvious. But it still did not mean she felt comfortable defending his past. She wanted others to understand the circumstances and make up their own minds. But, instead, Bram's fire and insistence had forced her to step in and cover for Kane more than she would have liked.

It was not just anger or frustration that pushed her over the edge. Rosa was hurt more because she believed that Bram would stand by her side and support her. Instead, he belittled her in front of everyone, calling her naïve. It was a betrayal of her trust, not to mention the loyalty on which the pair had built their relationship.

At least, that was Cedric's impression.

The resulting chill between them was heartbreaking. Cedric only hoped that, sooner or later, things would thaw and both would realize what the other had sacrificed. All else being equal, Cedric expected that to happen naturally. Unfortunately, he worried that the sunstone might interfere with Rosa's emotions, or possibly turn them against her. She needed a cure before it was too late. That was one of the many reasons why Cedric hoped this trip to Minoa would prove fruitful.

As for Kane … the former Templar was relatively upbeat as he strolled behind his new—and old—best friend. Of course, Cedric knew there was plenty more beneath the carefree surface. Kane had been dragged through the Burning Pits and back, and no man could put on a happy face after what he had been through. Though Kane had largely been exonerated of his crimes, memories of what he had done still remained strong among the crew—especially with Quon.

The Kenju Master had confided his skepticism to Cedric. He believed that men like Kane could not change. Even if Rosa supposedly cured him of a mental disease, what Kane had done had tarnished his soul. In Quon's eyes, the Templar had no honor, and he did not deserve to be part of the crew. Quon only tolerated his presence out of respect for Bram. As he put it, "The snake might shed its skin, but it is still a snake underneath."

All and all, it meant that Kane was on his own. Bram might have forgiven his childhood friend—or possibly set aside his reservations based on their history—but the wounds were still fresh. They would easily reopen if Kane faltered, even once. Rosa had gone out on a limb for him, too, and she would not likely do so again. As for the craftsman, he also planned to keep an eye on Kane. There was just too much at stake to trust in a wildcard at this point.

Cedric suspected that Kane realized this, too, which explained his upbeat behavior. No other man would be so nonchalant after what had happened. Kane was no doubt self-conscious of every minute, hoping to appear happy and well-intentioned, like a productive member of the crew. Even so, underneath he was probably just as miserable as Rosa. He would have an easier time walking on hot coals without getting burnt. Cedric sympathized, of course. But in order to trust Kane … well, only time would tell.

Before long, the Minoan temple entered into view. Cedric fell in awe the moment he saw it. Architecturally, it was incredible. Bright white spires glowed in the morning sunlight, set upon delicate flying buttresses. It easily put the cathedral in Angkor to shame—at least, the one that had existed before the Inner Sanctum collapsed.

Two white wizards met them at the gate, eager and ready to usher their Savior inside. They were so quick, in fact, that Cedric and the rest of the crew almost got lost in the shuffle. Just as the craftsman reached the threshold, a rapidly closing set of mighty wooden doors nearly hit him in the face.

Bram—now aware that his friends were getting left behind—resisted the path and appealed to the two wizards. "Wait, please. I won't go any farther without my crew."

The priests stopped dead in their tracks, mumbling apologies. "Forgive us, Sir Morrison, but … our accommodations are constrained as it is."

Cedric heard the excuse and shook his head. There had to be enough room inside such a mighty structure.

Fortunately, the Knight stood his ground. "Look, I don't know what your Elder has planned. I sure did not announce my arrival beforehand. Whatever it is, I insist he make room for us all. I refuse to follow without my friends at my side."

Cedric practically blushed. Bram had never referred to him as a friend before—at least, not loud enough for others to hear. The word was foreign but comforting. Perhaps after so many years alone with his wealth, Cedric had accepted the notion that he would never live life in the company of others. Certainly, he had never suspected that Bram Morrison—the Gnostic Knight notoriously known as Deathbringer—would ever regard him as more than a professional acquaintance. But now, Bram-the-Grigori-Knight had given Cedric a place on the team. Perhaps it was just silly mawkish feelings, but it pleased him nonetheless.

The priest bowed deeply. "Of course. If the Savior wishes it, we'll accommodate."

The doors reopened, leaving room for Cedric and the others to enter. They filed in after Bram, leaving the crowd of star-struck villagers behind.

The priests led the group straight through the nave. All the while, Cedric's eyes were transfixed to the beautiful stonework and hand-molded details. Bright amber light filtered through stained glass windows, creating a golden pathway across the cream-colored carpet. The splendor was magnificent.

At the front of the nave, the priests stopped before a man in plain brown robes who was conversing with a woman dressed in black. Cedric could tell by the way the priests bowed their heads that this humble man was very important. He had to be the Elder.

As Bram approached, the man excused himself and turned. A face that was neither old nor young, with almond shaped eyes, a bald head, and salt and pepper beard suddenly grew doleful as his eyes fell upon the Knight in gleaming silver armor. Sadness crept upon his face, and he and Bram seemed to converse without words. Perhaps it was magic, but they seemed to understand one another in silence. Soon, a similar downtrodden look befell the Knight, and Cedric finally understood.

The last time Bram left Minoa, he had brought along a young priestess. Cedric had only met Mica briefly before her ill-fated end. The young Koban girl had been rich in faith and courage. Even after battling one of the greatest evils Gaia had ever known, she still had the spirit and desire to do more.

When the tunnels at the bottom of the Substratum lost the last of their support, she chose to act to prevent others from being buried alive. Her final words cast a spell that turned her body to stone and kept the collapsing tunnel secure. The act went beyond mere bravery. It was selfless and pure, a gift to those she knew had to survive for the Ahrimen to be defeated.

Cedric had asked Matthias about it later. He learned that certain magical transmutations could not be undone. Magic could bend the human body, take flesh and bone, and rearrange it into all forms of living matter. Unfortunately, it could not create complex structures out of nothing. When Mica chose to turn herself to stone, she did so knowing that rock could not be remade into flesh.

Even so, when Bram had confronted her transmutation deep within the substratum, he believed his Grigori powers could save her. Only a few moments earlier, he had used them to successfully regrow Cedric's feet—a miracle that even wizards thought to be impossible.

Sadly, he did not have the time. The rest of the tunnel had eventually given way, forcing Bram to retreat. Worse, Cedric doubted that Bram would ever return, given Angkor's continued hostility, not to mention the Knight had recently backed off from using the sunstone due to the Ahriman's temptations. At least for now, it seemed that Mica's fate was sealed.

Cedric was heartbroken as he watched both men deflate in their wordless conversation—and he was not the only one. The rest of the crew seemed to have an inkling of what was transpiring. Even the nearby priests seemed to tear up. The desolation was contagious.

But then, at last, the Elder spoke. "We must be strong, Sir Morrison," his voice cracked. "It was Mica's wish that you survive to carry out her will."

Bram's eyes were shimmering pools. "But, Elder, I …."

The priest's voice was soft but decisive. "We shall speak of it no more. We will instead honor her memory by moving forward and ending the Ahrimen's reign of terror."

The Knight's dour expression remained, but he seemed to understand. "Yes, and I thank you for the warm welcome. I assume you foretold our coming?"

The Elder looked to either side, noticing that the priests from earlier were still there, standing idle and waiting for further instruction. He dismissed them before answering. "Not quite, Sir Morrison. In fact, we were forewarned of your arrival by our colleagues in Vineta. They contacted us earlier this morning."

Bram went rigid, but not before Quon stepped in with a mixture of alarm and disappointment. "You mean the clerics? It had to have been Madeline. She gave us up!"

The Elder waved away his concern. "At ease, my young Koban friend. The clerics do not aim to prosecute."

Judging from Quon's expression, the Kenju Master was still skeptical. Cedric certainly did not blame him. The craftsman was injured through most of the drama that went on in Kish, but he was told later how vindictive the clerics had been.

Even so, the Elder maintained his stance. "I understand your doubts, and by the clerics' own admission, they put you through terrible ordeals. However, please believe that they have since been enlightened. And I'd say, perhaps, even apologetic. So much has happened these last few days, Mister … well, um … let's just say we have much to discuss."

Bram must have just realized he had not made proper introductions. He cleared his throat. "Your eminence, forgive me. The man with whom you speak is Quon Nan, the famed Kenju Master of Koba."

The Elder brightened considerably. "A rare pleasure, Master Quon. And please, call me Christian. The rest of you are welcome to do the same. Anyone willing to put their life and soul on the line should not be subjected to formalized titles."

Quon shook the Elder's hand and then stepped aside to give Bram room to introduce the rest of his crew.

"Christian, this is Cedric Curtis. He was once Richard's Grand Craftsman, and he remains a brilliant airship engineer."

Cedric was flattered by the introduction and extended his hand confidently. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Sir. I've read so much about the Gaians and your fair community."

The Elder smiled, offering a hand that was surprisingly warm and soft. Cedric could not find a single callous or blemish anywhere. Had he not known better, he would have sworn the Goddess herself had blessed it to transfer peace and comfort at the touch. He almost did not want to let go.

The Elder then moved on to the next crewman. Bram announced his old friend with a smile. "And here's Kane Harding, a well-trained Templar and longtime friend."

Kane seemed a little stiff, as if not quite sure whether to salute or shake hands. He froze midway through both actions and then finally went with his hand. The Elder shook it without hesitation. Surely he noticed, but out of politeness did not draw attention to Kane's fumbling.

Bram hesitated before introducing his final crew member. It was almost as if he did not know quite how to do it. In the past, he would have referred to Rosa as his fiancée. But now, given their recent falling out, he was stuck between overstepping his bounds and being careful not to under-appreciate her contributions.

"This is Rosalyn Reynolds," he finally stated, "the most capable and … um, compassionate white wizard I have ever known."

"Just call me Rosa." She stepped forward and extended her hand as if wanting to get it over with. But instead of taking it, the Elder practically jumped backward—as if Rosa had drawn a weapon. A few passing priests stopped and stared with curiosity. Bram of course was half-surprised and half-mortified that the spiritual leader of the Gaian faith would suddenly treat the woman he loved with such repulsion.

"Christian, what's wrong?" His voice was as severe as his expression.

"Forgive me," the Elder's cheeks flushed, but he kept his distance. "I sense this woman carries the Pisces Stone. Is that true?"

Bram instantly fell mute. His lips moved, but no words came out. Cedric felt his muscles tense, since the first thing that went through his mind was the Mark of the Ahriman. But, surely, the Elder could not have known … yet, it was written all over his face!

"I do," Rosa answered stiffly, her guard fully up. "Although, I suspect from your reaction that you know more than the mere fact that I possess it."

Her face had darkened, brows low and lips downturned in an angry scowl. She looked like she was ready to brawl over it in front of everyone.

All around the Elder, priests and priestesses stopped dead in their tracks to stare at the strange conversation. But like a pro, Christian deflected the attention with a hearty laugh. "Oh, yes, quite right! You got me!" A few more chuckles. "Now, please, come this way so we can speak further." He curled a few fingers in a gesture meant for Rosa and the others to follow.

But Rosa appeared unwilling to play along. "Where are you taking us?" she demanded.

A bit of rouge appeared on the Elder's cheeks. "Merely to a place where we can converse in private." Despite signs of nervousness, he still upheld the act of a jovial host.

"Rosa, let's go," Bram urged. "This conversation does not belong in the open."

Hesitantly, she agreed, though Cedric heard her whisper something on the way out. "I'm tired of people telling me what to do."

It was unusual for Rosa to take such offense. Cedric worried what it meant as he followed the rest of the crew down a hallway on the south side of the temple.

The Elder once again waved them forward with his hand. "Our sacristy is just around the corner. It ought to be empty this time of day."

Cedric noticed a number of curious eyes trail them as they marched. The conversation had gone from welcoming to awkward so quickly. And Rosa angrily stomping her feet certainly did not help the situation.

Eventually, the Elder slid into a small room with closets on both ends and chests full of vestments and holy symbols. Once everyone was inside, he closed the door.

"I demand to know what this is all about!" Rosa's anger had grown. Her eyes flared with a mixture of fear and bile.

The Elder looked sympathetic. "You're safe here, my dear. You must try to free yourself of those negative emotions. They'll only grant it strength."

"Then you know!" Cedric blurted. He could hardly help himself. The Elder had voiced precisely what the craftsman was thinking.

The old man smirked. "It's not just because I'm a Sunstone Protector," he admitted. "The fact is I've studied the sunstones for more years than you've been alive, dear craftsman. I'm both sensitive to Minoa's sunstone as well as familiar with the Mark of the Ahriman."

Chills swept through Cedric's body. Bram and the others looked tongue-tied, fearful of what the Gaian leader might say next.

"Don't worry," he assured, correctly interpreting their anxious faces. "Rosa's secret is safe with me. But before word spreads, I must know as many details as possible."

"Why is that?" Quon asked. "What would happen if your followers learned of this?"

Cedric wondered the same thing.

The Elder sighed. "For the most part, my children look to me for leadership. However, as with any group of diverse backgrounds, there are some who might assert their own strength if I show weakness."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Cedric demanded, worried for Rosa's safety. "Would they harm her?"

"You don't need to refer to me as if I'm not here," she scolded.

This was certainly not Cedric's intention, but before he could say, "I'm sorry," she spoke over him. "Yes, I've been Marked, but it's none of your business. And if it's going to be a problem, I'll just wait by the _Heron_!"

"Here, try this." The Elder spoke a few words and a purple haze descended over Rosa. She breathed it in, and in moments she looked like she had just woken from a dream. "I'm so sorry," she apologized. "I don't know what came over me."

"It's like I said," Christian explained. "The Ahrimen gain strength with negative emotions. Fear, anger, anxiety … it's almost like a feedback loop, in which these emotions grow more intense with each passing moment. You must be conscious of this and not allow yourself to get riled."

"What kind of spell did you cast on her?" Bram wondered.

"Just a simple calming charm," he answered. "That should be enough, at least for now."

"But what about the priesthood?" Quon insisted.

"Yes, about them …" the Elder took a deep breath. "They are simply frightened. They know what happened to King Richard, and I can't predict what they might do if they learn that one of you has been compromised. Fear of the unknown can drive men to do crazy things. So let's just avoid the rumors or speculation for now until we've armed ourselves with the facts. With that in mind, Bram, please tell me about your journey since leaving Minoa."

The Knight blinked a few times, as if needing a moment to process everything the Elder had just said. A moment later, he began his tale.

The Elder wore a subdued expression as Bram laid out all the details, eventually culminating with his confrontation with Libicocco. He spent extra time describing how Rosa had caught the Gemini Stone while the Pisces Stone was still clenched in her other hand.

When the story was finished, the Elder stewed a bit before responding. "I see … so Abaddon asserted its Mark, even though Libicocco's sunstone was touched second. I'm afraid it's a sign of great malice, my dear Rosa. Usually, it's not the sunstone already in hand that leaves its Mark. If I might ask, have you felt any other symptoms?"

Rosa thought for a moment. "Actually … I've been hearing things … voices, I think."

Bram's eyes went wide. "Rosa! Why haven't you told me?"

She scoffed. "It's not like I've kept anything from you. It started shortly after we arrived in Minoa. Besides, the words don't make any sense. It's almost like a faint memory. At first, I wasn't sure if it was real or just my imagination. But … it's been happening a lot now."

Bram looked to be in agony.

Cedric empathized. He asked the obvious question. "But what does it all mean, Christian? Should we be concerned? Are we running out of time?"

The Elder sighed and rubbed his hands together nervously. "Keep in mind that it's been ages since anyone has actually observed the Mark of the Ahriman in practice. Even so, the symptoms are thoroughly consistent with what I've researched. Those voices are just the beginning, my dear. It's difficult to say what form of temptation might manifest later, but you must resist no matter what. Eventually, you will feel compelled to use the sunstone. But if you do … even once … the demon's grip on you will be almost impossible to resist."

Cedric felt sick to his stomach. "But … can't we prevent it, somehow?"

The Elder shook his head. "I'm afraid it's useless to take the sunstone away from her. Should you attempt it, Rosa will be forced to stop you, even if she doesn't want to hurt you. And you would only succeed in making things worse."

Bram's face drained of color. "Christian, if you had only prepared me before sending me off to Angkor, this might have never happened."

Cedric was shocked by the unexpected criticism. Indeed, even the Elder looked wounded. "I sent you knowing that King Richard was poised to release one of the Ahrimen. I had no idea that you would run into a second of these demons before returning to Minoa."

"Even so," Bram challenged, his voice laced with irritation, "you could have prevented this if you had told me more about the sunstones. Yet you sent me off completely unprepared!"

"And the results are lamentable, clearly!" the Elder acknowledged. "But it was only because I understood the price of failure if Richard had unleashed Abaddon before you arrived. The repercussions … they were incalculable! The demon would have grown in strength quickly. And it would have put measures in place to protect itself—and, any advantage you would have had would be gone, no matter how well I trained you. So, no … I do not regret sending you off quickly."

Bram accepted this, but Quon was not yet finished. "You could have at least warned him not to battle a second Ahriman," he reasoned. "You would not have delayed his voyage long to offer some basic knowledge of what he was up against."

Christian winced. "Please understand, Master Nan. Bram was about to enter a battle against an unholy demon the likes of which this world hadn't seen in a thousand years. He was foretold to be our Savior, so I had to trust that the knowledge he needed would be made available when the time was right. I did not want to over-prepare him, lest he choke at the eventual confrontation. I believed the best path was simplicity and expedience, so I instructed my acolyte, Mica, to bring Bram home as soon as he recovered the sunstone. I never expected that she … that she would …."

The Elder choked, leaving a moment for Bram to approach with comfort. By now, the Knight's irritation had transitioned to empathy. "I understand your reasons, Christian. And, someday, I swear I'll find a way to bring Mica home. As for her counsel, I doubt it would have helped. As soon as we defeated Abaddon, Samuel set up his bargain for the Capricorn Stone. He and Virgil exploited my weaknesses, because they knew I'd go after them before returning the Pisces Stone to Minoa."

Cedric saw a glance from Rosa. She looked at Bram with longing, but only for a moment. Indeed, Bram had put everything on the line to save her. Hopefully she realized that. But, strangely, she turned away as if unwilling to let Bram notice.

Meanwhile, guilt flashed across Kane's face. He must have realized that as Bram sacrificed for Rosa, the Templar had played the part of the villain. Such guilt would not go away so easily. Perhaps that was why he ended up speaking out.

"Elder … Christian … how much time does Rosa have left? We came to Minoa in search of the moonstones, and we believe they are part of the cure. Can you help us to find them?"

The Elder repeated the term, as if needing to hear it a second time to jog his memory. "Moonstones … ah, yes, I remember. It was a long time ago, when I was a much younger wizard."

"You mean back when you were Maurice Vance's apprentice?" Quon asked.

Christian cringed. "I prefer to think of us as colleagues, though you could say that he also acted as my mentor at times. The point is, I recall some of his research that pointed to a set of artifacts similar to the sunstones, except they had the power to nullify the Ahrimen's powers."

"That's right," Kane agreed enthusiastically. "So, do you know where to find them?"

Christian shook his head. "Unfortunately, I do not. We searched for the moonstones for a while but eventually gave up and decided it would be easier to experiment on the sunstones directly. That's when Maurice decided to research the Capricorn Stone."

Multiple shoulders sagged. "But we came all this way," Bram lamented. "Could you at least summarize what you learned when you went off searching for them?"

Christian opened his mouth to say something, but then he closed it and sighed. "It was just a bunch of dead ends. The documents we used at the time were very old, almost disintegrated, and very difficult to translate from the old tongue. It's not clear if the information is even valid anymore."

Cedric was curious. "Which old tongue was it?" He had spent quite a bit of time studying defunct languages. History was one of his many hobbies, and he had collected quite a few books on the subject. In the modern age, global travel and standardization had caused many regions to lose their native languages in favor of the common tongue.

"I refer to the language of the Ancients, my dear Cedric. The ones whose civilization had once confronted the Ahrimen and suffered terrible losses."

"You mean the people from whom I descended," Bram suggested. "The predecessors of the Gaians …." He looked disappointed. "That must mean the records are about a thousand years old."

The Elder looked sympathetic. "I'm afraid so, Bram. I've seen neither text nor tome that has referenced the moonstones since."

"But, wait …." Kane began a new train of thought, pausing until everyone gave him their attention. "What about Virgil? With Bram's brother now dead, the information must lie with him."

Quon folded his arms, his expression dark. "Yes, about Virgil … we learned from Madeline that he had once gone by the name of Galiver Givry and served as another of Vance's apprentices. You must have known this man, is that not right, Christian?"

The Elder stared back in disbelief. "Galiver? But that's impossible!"

Bram explained the connection, including how Virgil had used the pseudonym while confronting them in Angkor's underground tunnels.

"Virgil has been behind this since the beginning. We think he has both a moonstone and the real Capricorn Stone, which explains how he has access to special powers without exposing the Ahriman's corruption. We've run through multiple scenarios, and this is the only one that makes sense. Otherwise, Lord Zagan would have escaped, and we would have all known it."

Christian looked like he was still trying to absorb the new information. "If what you say is true, then you are surely unprepared to face that kind of power. Lord Zagan is by far the most devious and vicious of the four Ahrimen. The demon's power is immeasurable. You mustn't go looking for Galiver until you have the moonstones to protect you."

"But, how?" Bram was exasperated. "If Virgil is the only one left who knows anything about them, how would we prepare ourselves beforehand?"

The Elder stood with his mouth half-open. He looked desperate to say something, yet he still hesitated. "Bram … there might be a way. I will surely regret telling you this, but—"

He was interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Christian, what is it?" Bram pressed. But the Elder waved his hand—a gesture for silence—until he had a chance to answer the door.

An eager-looking priest awaited on the other side. "We've been looking everywhere for you, Elder. The incantation is almost ready."

Christian nodded. "We'll be there shortly. Continue preparations."

The priest nodded and left.

Bram kept pressing. "Christian, please tell us what you had in mind before we were interrupted."

The Elder shook his head. "Not yet. We've been preparing all morning for a long-distance communications window with the clerics, and it appears that it's just about ready."

"All morning?" Rosa asked. "I realize that Kish is quite far away, but surely there are enough capable wizards in both locations to cast the spell."

The Elder sighed. "I had hoped to cover this earlier …." He then described how the strength of magic had been reduced all across Gaia. Even a simple communications portal required his top priests, along with sigils and circles of power to strengthen their magic.

"So far, our communications have been limited to passing runes back and forth, which is laborious and slow. Besides, with you here, we have the perfect opportunity to share vital context and information. We can't miss it."

Rosa stepped backward. "Now that you mention it, I've been feeling a weakness in my own magic since waking up yesterday. But I had assumed it had something to do with the Mark."

The Elder nodded. "Now you know. We need to head down to the laboratory right away. If we don't learn more about this issue, it'll be even harder to confront the Ahrimen."

Bram sighed. "Very well. We'll speak with the clerics and find out what happened. But then, Christian, you need to finish telling us about the moonstones."

The Elder nodded. "I apologize for being evasive, but I promise it will all make sense later. For now, though, let's hurry downstairs."

* * *

...

* * *

Bram followed the Elder back through the halls of the temple, summoning his patience to quench an intense curiosity burning inside of him. The Elder had very nearly revealed the first significant clue about the moonstones … until he was interrupted. Bram wanted desperately to know what it was. It could have been his first and only lead, but only Christian truly knew the answer. Bram just hoped the Elder would follow through on his promise and reveal it later.

Although, perhaps it was good to take a break from the urgent to learn about some new threats. All around the temple, wizards were whispering frantically about the sudden weakness in magic. It was clear that this was a major problem, but Bram wondered how it would affect his journey.

Then again, he was still apprehensive about joining a conversation with the clerics of Kish. Not long ago, Jeremiah's fury had resulted in Bram being tied up and thrown inside an old wizard sanitarium. The old cleric had been entirely unwilling to listen to reason, and now it seemed impossible to think that a man like that would suddenly change his mind.

Besides, Bram was not so sure he wanted to forgive him. Jeremiah's incompetence had nearly thwarted his chances of finding Samuel's base, of rescuing Rosa, or of bringing Kane back to the side of good. If the old cleric now expected Bram to swallow his pride and move on, it would not be so easy.

True, there was no point in holding grudges, but something about the prideful old wizard made Bram's blood boil. The way he threw his weight around and used only the facts that suited him … it was a disgrace, and Bram would not let it slide again. If Jeremiah dared to let his ego balloon during the upcoming discussion, Bram had a few choice words that he would unleash to deflate it.

He just wanted it over and done with, so he could get back to his conversation with Christian. Whatever the Elder had to say, it was likely far more important to his journey. Not to mention that time was running short. If Rosa was already hearing voices, Bram had to find her a moonstone quickly!

Bram still loved her deeply, despite the friction between them. And he knew that she loved him, too. Back aboard the _Heron_ , mentally weary and exhausted from a day of drama and turmoil, he had finally summoned the courage to apologize. Fortunately, Rosa had granted him one last chance to explain himself. He did, of course, but he also used the time to reveal his many struggles with controlling his emotions.

Fortunately, his humility was well received. Rosa accepted his apologies, but she explained she needed more time before things would be back to the way they were. In the meantime, she asked for space. Unlike previous fights, this one did not involve making up and starting over. This time, Rosa wanted Bram to prove that he was capable of making real changes. And she wanted him to start by examining the way he treated others. After all, if he could not be respectful to friends and allies, she could not expect him to treat her the way she needed.

He took every bit of feedback to heart, wondering how he could reach out to his crew and encourage teamwork. First, he thought of Quon, probably the least likely to need help. The Kenju Master was already the most disciplined on the _Heron_ , self-sufficient, and confident in his role. Kane, on the other hand, was the most difficult. He just needed time before the rest of the crew trusted him—a lot of time—and there was little Bram could do to accelerate the process.

Then there was Cedric.

The craftsman was hard to read, but Bram had a feeling that he questioned his role in the team. Bram praised him now and then for his brilliant deductive skills and excellent piloting of the ship, but it seemed the craftsman needed more. Bram thought about what else he could do to make him feel welcome as he descended a long spiral staircase in the back of the temple. At the bottom, he passed through a stone arch and realized that he had arrived at his destination.

The Knight's eyes swelled as he scanned the many magical instruments strewn about the stone chamber. In its center, the priests had cleared a large space, on which they had drawn circles with white chalk. These were sigils of magic, and they were filled with arcane symbols and topped with pungent spell components. A mixture of sweet and peppery herbs hung in the air. Along the perimeter, no less than twenty priests and priestesses stood with their hands raised and lips whispering inaudible syllables. Clearly, the Elder was not kidding when he claimed they had taken all morning to prepare the spells.

Christian addressed Bram's crew. "We're right on time. Once the portal opens, we need to get straight to the point. There won't be much time for small talk or chatter." He directed each of the heroes to a specific place on the floor. "Please sit in the following assigned circles, which will help my priests to maintain a stable flow of magic."

Of course, Bram's circle was fairly small, so he had to sit with his legs scrunched to fit comfortably. The Elder placed him on the opposite end of the room from Rosa, perhaps to avoid their sunstones from interacting.

As soon as everyone was seated, the chanting began. A din of undecipherable syllables coated the air. Bram felt a rush of adrenaline, and his body swayed with an unseen energy. It was almost like the gentle waves of a tide pool lapping upon his body. Then, along one side of the room, sparks sizzled in a rectangular shape. The lightshow continued until the stone wall at the end was replaced with a view of a second room of people.

"Greetings," an older woman welcomed from the other side. Bram was relieved to see that it was Madeline. "I must congratulate everyone on a job well done. This incantation involved some rather experimental techniques, but the results speak for themselves."

"Indeed, I can see and hear everyone clearly," the Elder commended. "It's a rare opportunity to speak to the revered Circle of Eight. I regret that our relationship has been tenuous over the years, even in the best of times. However, I look forward to putting our differences aside to focus on the greater good."

"Well said, Christian," Jeremiah praised from Madeline's right. The old cleric seemed quite a bit more relaxed than the last time Bram saw him. "In the spirit of expedience, I suggest quick introductions. For those who don't know me, my name is Jeremiah. To my left is Madeline Beaufort, who has taken the place of our former One Voice. Some of you might remember Allura, but she has recently retired. I ask that you respect her privacy and do not attempt to contact her moving forward."

Bram raised his brows. He did not know who this old bloviate thought he was kidding, but Allura and Madeline was the same woman. Of course, the more Bram thought about it, he wondered if the lie had been Madeline's idea. After all, she had taken on the guise of a younger woman for many years in order to overcome misogyny in her line of work. Even so, few people in the world would truly understand her reasons. Pretending that Allura had retired might actually save her lengthy explanations, not to mention shame and embarrassment among the court of public opinion. Still … it was strange to think of Jeremiah as someone who would go out of his way to protect his peer and rival.

The elder cleric continued. "I'd also like to point to another special visitor." He gestured to a woman sitting on Madeline's other side. "This here is the famous Lady Black of Kitezh. She's been kind enough to lend us her expertise and was pivotal to connecting our end of the portal."

Bram wondered what Lady Black was doing outside of Kitezh, but then he saw Prince Józef and Konrad seated behind her. He was relieved that the heir had survived the tsunami and was looking a lot healthier than the last time Bram had seen him. It also it made sense that Konrad had traveled to Kish to help his ward return home. Bram hoped it would finally lead to some stability in that part of the world.

Jeremiah concluded by introducing the six remaining clerics: Isaac, Simon, Jacob, Noah, Aaron, and Matthew. They were mostly older men, but the last two looked to be about Cedric's age.

Jeremiah handed the stage back to Christian, who introduced himself and some of his top priests and priestesses. He then moved on to Bram and crew.

Once introductions were finished, Madeline spoke. "Sir Morrison, I do not want to delay us from our agenda, but I feel it's necessary to offer you our utmost apologies. We put you through excruciating …."

She trailed off when Jeremiah raised his hand in a polite manner. The former One Voice granted him the floor.

"Madeline, thank you," he offered in a humble voice, "but I think Sir Morrison needs to hear this from me. With all due respect."

Madeline nodded with a smile, but for Bram, something about the old man still churned his gut. He figured he ought to give Jeremiah the benefit of the doubt, but it was not easy. At least the elder cleric _appeared_ contrite.

"I'm not proud of how I acted, Bram." The old man's brows scrunched together so hard they looked like a wooly caterpillar. The Knight was not yet convinced that it was true repentance, but it sure did seem genuine. "I was under a lot of pressure to answer for the safety of our sunstone, and I had true concerns over how it would affect the credibility of our order in the future. But, as it turns out, I was wrong about you. Just as I made the same mistake years ago when it came to Maurice Vance."

The man's name created a din of chatter among the Gaian priests. Jeremiah cleared his throat to get their attention. "It's time to come clean and reveal the truth about what really happened thirty years ago."

Sure enough, Jeremiah admitted to casting aside the evidence that would have proven Vance's experiments were successful. Had the clerics conducted a thorough investigation, they would have learned that Vance's apprentice, Galiver Givry, had stolen the Capricorn Stone and replaced it with a convincing fake. But, due to Jeremiah's failure, the world remained ignorant of the Ahrimen for thirty years, thus squandering all opportunities for preparation.

The Gaian priests were in an uproar, but Bram had never felt more vindicated.

"Please," Jeremiah pleaded, "please allow me to finish."

The room quieted.

"I made a huge error by valuing my pride over the truth. But now, the evidence is incontrovertible. I must conclude that our treasured Capricorn Stone is in the hands of the enemy and Sir Morrison had nothing to do with its disappearance."

Amid a roomful of angry glares, Jeremiah finally concluded. "We, the Circle of Eight, have therefore decided that I should step down. From this moment forward, Madeline Beaufort will lead the clerics in my place."

A collection of gasps erupted. Bram was stunned. Indeed, the past few days had made all the difference! If ever there was a time for grudges, it was over. With Jeremiah out of the picture, Bram had a chance to repair the damage and forge new relationships within the Circle.

The cleric named Simon broke the silence. "I just wanted everyone to know that I've worked alongside Jeremiah for more than forty years." He turned to his former colleague. "It's been an honor, Sir. My only hope is that your legacy of achievements not be overshadowed by your handful of faults."

"Indeed," Jacob added. "Many of us should have shared in your blame. You were not the only one who doubted Sir Morrison's story. We all voted according to the facts available to us. Only in hindsight do we now comprehend the grievousness of our mistakes."

Bram felt it was important to say something, too. "Jeremiah … others … I am disappointed that we couldn't have joined forces sooner. However, I also acknowledge my own part in this mistake. I kept my motives hidden, because I believed they would be misinterpreted. But in so doing, the worst of my fears still came to pass. So I can't place all the blame on Jeremiah. In fact, I think it's time we stop looking for one person to be responsible and instead all unite in the stand against the Ahrimen."

Madeline smiled. "Thank you, Bram. Your capacity for forgiveness is admirable. As for Jeremiah, he'll still aid our cause, but only in an advisory role. By the way, I do not want to presume, but did your Elder brief you on our situation in Kish?"

Bram was confused, but Christian clarified. "We only had a few minutes to converse prior to the conference, but I'm afraid Sir Morrison knows nothing of the recent tragedies."

Chills coursed through Bram's body at the mention of tragedy. Madeline detailed how a mighty object had crashed into the Great Ocean, creating a tsunami that wiped out multiple villages along the southern coast, including Kish. Twenty thousand were dead or displaced.

The only survivors were those who made it to higher ground, or those sequestered in the main wing of the Nexus. Thankfully, the hospital wards were spared, in large part due to Madeline's and Jeremiah's leadership. The two clerics had led a force of wizards that successfully diverted the tsunami before it reached the building.

Bram cringed. He knew that he was part of what had caused this tragedy, and it made him ill just thinking about it. But the look on Cedric's pale face suggested that he felt a much stronger sense of guilt.

The grief-stricken craftsman spoke with a shaky voice. "It was Zounds … it had to have been! I created the airship that fell into the ocean. All those lives were lost because of _me!_ "

The room gasped, and Bram felt that he needed to step in. "No, you mustn't hold him responsible. Let me explain."

He received many angry glares, but it was his duty to defend his crewman. " _Zounds_ was a massive airbase project commissioned by King Richard more than a year ago. Cedric designed it, but he was certainly not the cause of the crash. Samuel Cortez was responsible. He had stolen the aircraft as soon as construction was finished and used it as his base of operation. We infiltrated it to go after the sunstones, but the resulting battles caused irreparable damage. We were forced to abandon ship, but by then the wreckage was already on a collision course, somewhere off the coast of Dorestad. So you see … Cedric cannot be blamed for any of it!"

Bram hoped his speech would deflect the attention away from Cedric, but it seemed the craftsman wanted the blame. He shook his head vigorously.

"No, Bram. You don't understand. _Zounds_ wouldn't have existed, if not for me. Richard commissioned it after the War was over. Angkor had no need for another war machine, so I should have turned him down. But I didn't. I wanted the challenge … a chance to top my previous achievements, even when faced with the ethical concerns. I never considered who would be hurt. I just wanted the glory. And had I refused … _Zounds_ would have never been built."

Bram understood Cedric's reasoning, but he did not agree. So he set the record straight using a gentle yet authoritative voice. He wanted to teach, not recriminate.

"Cedric … we all had different lives before we embarked on this journey. And for many of us, those lives came with regrets. I used to be Richard's sword. Because of me, many innocents were cut down, including men and women from this very temple. I don't deny the blood on my hands … our hands … but it doesn't change who we are, or that we're here to do better and repent for our past mistakes."

The craftsman still looked unconvinced. "It just hurts to know that I was so motivated by greed that I ignored the value of life. That's not who I am. My reasons used to be selfless. I wanted air flight to change the world, make travel easier, improve commerce, and enrich people's lives. But at some point, it got to my head. I outdid myself only for self-gratification. Even earlier today, I was bitter because you were getting attention for your valor … while I'm nothing but a washed up Grand Craftsman."

Bram related to Cedric's explanation. After all, he had once joined the Gnostic Knights for noble reasons, only to discover that his motives grew more selfish over time. The need for self-gratification overpowered his original desire to protect the farmers of the western provinces. He wanted somehow to tell Cedric that he was not so different. But the craftsman had more to say.

"I'm not a soldier, Bram. Not like you. I tried to be brave, but when we went after Arcesilaus, it nearly got me killed. Even so, I never stopped wanting a pat on the back for my life of hard work, until I realized … not only do I not deserve one … but my creations only ended up causing the deaths of thousands of people. So now, all I want is to take it back. But I can't. It's too late. Those people are dead because of me, and I can't change it."

"You're right," Rosa chimed in, "but so is Bram."

Her voice was sweet and melodic. Just when Bram thought he had no more words of comfort, the beautiful wizardress stepped in to support him.

"We all make mistakes, Cedric. Sometimes, we follow the wrong principles or are led astray by our own ambitions. But the wonderful thing is that we always have a chance to start over and do better."

"That's right," Christian agreed, adding his own support. "We're imperfect beings—all of us. And sometimes our best isn't enough. But, in spite of your mistakes, you've chosen to stand against the Ahrimen. And there's no cause nobler than that. I am proud to see this fine crew standing up for one another. It creates the kind of strength that I'm certain the Ahrimen fear."

Bram smiled. The words he needed were now obvious. "Just remember, Cedric: you're part of the crew now, and we can't save the world without you. Based on your unique skills, your brilliance in engineering, and your strong deductive mind, you're bound to be an asset for us moving forward. You don't need to be in the middle of battle to earn your place on the team."

For a moment, Cedric was speechless. His cheeks grew rosy, and he just sat there looking embarrassed. And then, at last, a smile crept upon his face.

"Thank you, Bram. I … I think I needed that."

Bram noticed the same smile appear on Rosa as well. She seemed pleased with what he said, and he knew that she had been right when she told him that true leadership meant respecting and understanding his crew. Only when the whole team was healthy and strong could he be as well. He only hoped that by achieving this unity, he could rebuild the trust with the woman he loved.

For now, though, the warm moment had ended. The conference needed to move forward before the spell ran out. It was a good time to segue to what had caused the degradation of magic that was plaguing all wizards.

"Madeline, I believe I know what severed the connection between wizards and their magic. I believe it was Apocalypsis."

The term got the attention of both rooms, but more so among the Gaians. The Elder had to step in to put an end to the chatter. "Sons and daughters, please show respect to those speaking. This is the moment we've been waiting for. Let's hear what the clerics have to say."

"Thank you, Christian," Madeline spoke. "To explain further, I'd like to hand the floor over to Lady Black, whose theories go a long way toward explaining the problem—and, hopefully, lead to a cure. My Lady, please explain your analysis regarding the Zohar."

The clamor among the Gaian priests resumed. Clearly, they were not pleased to hear an explanation that was built on the basis of their adversaries' religion. The Elder spoke over them again, this time with more fervor.

"Silence! This is not the time to debate dogma. Lady Black is a neutral party. You have no reason to doubt her as a source. Sons and Daughters, I implore you to open your minds and listen."

This time, however, the priests ignored their Elder's pleas. Bram was shocked. In all other instances, Christian had a strong hold on his followers. But now, when it came to a potential controversy with their fundamental beliefs, the Elder had lost his grip.

Even so, Lady Black quenched the murmurs with her resounding voice. It was captivating and clear, demanding the room's attention. "Call it what you will," she professed. "The term makes no difference."

She then laid out her theories on high density magic, and how it could damage the fabric of the Universe. She included a compelling analogy.

"Consider a pipe, which can be opened or closed to manage the flow of water. This is like the fabric of our Universe. But, instead of water, it allows for the flow of magical energy. The natural production of manna in our bodies allows us to regulate that flow, like turning the spigot. However, high-density magic is akin to increasing water pressure. Once it becomes too strong, the pipe will burst, and no more water will flow."

Rosa perked up, looking curious. "So you're saying that spells like Apocalypsis can rupture the pipe?"

"Correct," Lady Black commended. "But for now, it is not yet ruptured. It is more like a slow leak. Magic still flows, but with less strength than before."

Her statement was followed by numerous private discussions among the priests. Clearly, they were eager to think through the implications.

Madeline spoke above the murmurs. "Your attentions, please! Lady Black has more. Apocalypsis is only one of the dangers in harming this fabric."

The room returned to silence, at which point Cedric added his own point of view. "You refer to the Ahrimen, correct? We've known that their magic is extremely powerful. It must be because they use high density magic."

"Well done, Mister Curtis," Madeline responded. "For a layman, your observation is most astute."

"I remembered our previous conversation," he explained. "You had told us about your fear that the Ahrimen could disrupt the Zohar. At least now we have a practical explanation."

Bram also remembered that conversation, and the danger went far beyond just a weakening of magic. "Madeline, didn't you theorize that the Zohar controlled the flow of life as well? What would happen to Gaia if the Ahrimen continued to use their powers?"

Madeline turned to the famed black wizardress. "Lady Black, it's time you revealed the details of your vision."

The famed Diviner approached the portal with words that were as grave as they were chilling. "Sir Morrison, I traveled a long way to speak with you this day. I came to Kish not just to chaperone Mister Rommel or to look after Prince Brandt, but to deliver a very important message."

Bram caught a sideways glance from Konrad. No doubt the Primary Minister was also curious about Lady Black's motives.

She continued. "It concerns a vision that came to me several weeks ago. Although I did not realize it at the time, I now know it was a particularly rare form of vision known as … a Divine Premonition."

Bram was unfamiliar with this term, but Christian seemed to understand it all too well. "A Divine Premonition? Are you sure?"

Bram interjected. "Wait. What is it, and how is it different from a typical Diviner's vision?"

Christian did not respond at first. He seemed to be in a daze. His eyes were wide and glazed with an almost dreamlike look. "They are messages, Sir Morrison. Except, unlike regular visions, which appear to certain wizards sensitive to past, present, or future, a Divine Premonition goes beyond the scale of our mortal world. It is … by definition … _divine_."

"You mean a message from the Goddess?" Bram asked.

He was answered by a member of the priesthood. "It _must_ have been the Goddess."

Others joined in the speculation.

"Gaia bestowed a vision to the Diviner."

"Blessed be Lady Black."

"She's a Prophet!"

Lady Black spoke over the choir of voices. "Perhaps I am … or perhaps not. Either way, I have a message that must be delivered. So heed it well, Sir Knight."

Lady Black described her vision. It involved a thin and impossibly tall tower that reached to the Heavens while the world around it was reduced to ash. All life had been extinguished, and all of the basic elements were thrown out of balance.

"Earth, wind, fire, and water," she went on. "All disappear along with the Zohar. Sir Morrison, you must reach this tower and stop the Zohar from being disrupted. Otherwise, if we allow the dismal future of my vision to happen, then all life on Gaia will be at an end."

The statement resulted in an uproar. Multiple priests called her theory crazy, while the clerics stood up to defend the venerable wizardress. Gaians and Kybalics alike were at each other's throats.

"Silence!" the Elder roared. The man who had thus far been an icon of calmness and humility was finally at his wit's end. "Sons and Daughters, you shall heed me at once!"

It got the desired results, but not without a few angry glares.

"Show some courtesy," he urged. "We are all working toward the same goal. If you have doubts, then raise them with the respect that is due."

"I've heard enough, Elder," one of his priests challenged. "These nonbelievers have proven nothing. All they do is hurl scare tactics and theories that pressure us to act without due deliberation."

"But what reason have you to doubt them, Malcomb?" the Elder contested. "Does Lady Black's reputation mean nothing to you?"

"I agree with Malcomb," a nearby priestess asserted. "There's no such tower on Gaia that matches this vision. As for Divine Premonition, we have no proof of that, either. It could have been a bad dream, for all we know."

Another priestess piled on. "And, let us not forget Gaia's teachings: The elements of life come from the Goddess. Yet these heretics speak of the Zohar and fabrics of the Universe. Even someone of Lady Black's stature should present commensurate evidence before we consider changing our beliefs!"

"We have been patient with their theories," another priest insisted, "but they border on heresy. We should spend more time positing on the weaknesses in magic ourselves, and cross-check our theories with scripture."

"Sons … Daughters … please." The Elder tried his best to rein in his followers, but it seemed to be a losing battle. Bram feared the conversation would soon get shut down before he learned anything of value. Unfortunately, he worried more about getting in the middle of a religious argument. The last thing he wanted was to make things worse. Instead, he froze as priests and priestesses bickered among themselves.

"Lady Black? Lady Black?" A brave voice cried out from the crowd. It was Kane's, and his insistence cut through the other arguments. "What was the name of this tower?"

Bram was grateful to have his friend step in. Lady Black answered. "Its name is Axismundi."

Once the priests heard this word, they went deathly silent. Then, one by one, their faces turned toward the Elder.

The one named Malcolm spoke first. "Will you tell them, Christian, or shall I?"

The Elder shivered as if Malcolm had doused him with a bucket of cold water. "I'll say what must be said."

He approached the portal and explained. "Axismundi is the name given to the Tree of Life. It's a sacred part of Gaian canon, but the word itself is a closely guarded secret. For centuries, only the most senior priests were allowed to know of its existence. We consider it blasphemous for outsiders to even utter its name."

"I don't know much about Gaian canon," Kane told him, "but I know that Samuel Cortez sought a tower of the same name. And I don't think it's a coincidence."

"Wait," Cedric interjected. "You say tower, while others say tree. But which is it?"

Christian answered. "Mister Curtis, we call Axismundi the Tree of Life, but it's not a literal tree. In fact, from a distance it might resemble either a tower or a tree."

Bram was growing weary of the nitpicking. "Either way, what is Virgil's interest in it?"

The Elder turned to Kane. "Mister Harding, think back to what Samuel told you. Did he say anything specifically regarding Axismundi?"

Kane looked anxious at being put on the spot, but he composed himself and answered. "I … I don't remember the exact words, but he said it was the final place of his plan. He said … now I remember … he said it would open up a path to the Heavens."

All of a sudden, the Elder looked faint, prompting Bram to say something. "Christian, are you alright? Do you need help?"

"I'm fine," he assured. "Stay in your seats, all of you."

A few of the priests gathered to give him support, but he waved them away.

"Thank you, but please. I know it goes against our teachings, but we must tell them about Axismundi."

Malcomb stepped in front of the Elder. "Father, are you sure?"

"Yes, my son," he assured. "Please, step aside. These truths must be laid to bare, or else these heroes have no hope of confronting the Ahrimen."

Malcomb returned to his place along the wall, but he did not look pleased.

The Elder paused with his hands folded, as if gathering his thoughts. "The Tree of Life is our origin story. Our predecessors believed—as do we—that this planet started as nothing more than a lifeless rock. However, our Goddess visited from Her place in the cosmos and created Axismundi as a mechanism for producing life. That's why we refer to it as the Tree of Life, because everything we know had once originated from it."

Madeline posed a question. "You state that you still believe in this doctrine, but does it not contradict the well-researched and commonly-held belief among wizards that life began as single-cell organisms? If you truly believe that all life originated from Axismundi, then you must reject the notion that it evolved based on simple organisms changing over the millennia into the complex plants and animals we know today."

Christian waved his hands defensively. "We do not dispute well-researched wizardry," he clarified. "As Gaian priests, we cross-check new research against scripture on a regular basis, all while searching for a better understanding. We conclude that the Tree of Life is real, and it created the right conditions for those first single-cell organisms to form. Eventually, those organisms evolved into the plants and animals we know today. Therefore, Axismundi did not birth the entirety of life, but it did form the genesis of it."

Bram scratched his head. "I don't understand, Christian. How can this tree … or tower … be responsible for producing actual life?"

The Elder tried again. "Consider our understanding of single-cell organisms. Magic is able to magnify these creatures, which are so small we can't see them with the naked eye. However, because of magic, we know that even the simplest organisms are incredibly complex, consisting of thousands of smaller structures. Wizarding theory states that under the right conditions, with the right raw materials and enough time, those complex structures can form on their own. However, no one has proven this through observation, even though many wizards have attempted such experiments in their laboratories. Researchers have laboriously reproduced all of the same conditions as theory, but none have yet observed even the simplest organism form on its own."

"Even so," Cedric argued, "that doesn't disprove the theories. Perhaps it simply takes longer for life to form than any one wizard has observed."

"That's the prevailing argument," the Elder admitted. "However, it requires that you believe in existing theory without proof. In other words: on faith. And if you wish to put your faith in one theory, why not also believe in the Tree of Life? After all, you had asked why our enemy seeks its powers. If Virgil believes that Axismundi will open up at path to the Heavens, then he too must believe in our Goddess. After all, scripture tells us that Gaia hid Her powers within Axismundi, and that must be what Samuel Cortez was after."

Bram was stunned. All of a sudden, it all made sense. Just as his journey began with the sunstones being regarded as nothing more than religious icons, and the Ahrimen as bedtime stories meant to frighten children into behaving for their parents, now another piece of folklore was about to be proven true. Even the Zohar was once considered a baseless part of a pagan religion, but it just became the basis of advanced wizarding theory. Bram wondered if the Goddess might also become a meaningful part of his journey.

Unfortunately, others in the room were not as convinced. "I don't see how any of this helps us with what to do next," Jeremiah complained.

Malcomb responded angrily. "That's because you heathens scoff at things you don't understand. Most of the world mocks us Gaians, but one day you hypocrites will learn what it means to live in sin. Someday, you will receive Judgment!"

Jeremiah raised his hands defensively. "I'm not trying to deny your scripture. All I'm saying is that we need to understand what this Tree of Life means for us and where to find it."

"You'll learn nothing from us, Heathen!" Malcomb spat.

"Malcomb, stand down!" Christian demanded. "Gaia does not grants us the right to judge others, just because they don't believe."

Malcomb bowed his head and stepped back, but it was clear that tensions remained. Bram tried again to make sense of it. "Let's say that Virgil believes that reaching Axismundi will grant him access to the Goddess's powers. We still need to find where Axismundi actually is. It's either that or go back to collecting the sunstones and moonstones."

Speaking of moonstones, Bram realized it was his chance to find out what the Elder had tried to tell him earlier. He could either demand the answer now or risk Christian delaying the topic indefinitely. Bram decided to make his move.

"Christian, it's time you fulfill your promise and tell us about the moonstones. Please. You must have some idea of where to find them!"

All eyes fell on the Elder, whose face looked drained of blood. He lowered his head. "The information I hinted at earlier was supposed to be held in confidence, Bram. I had intended it only for … when the time was right."

Bram did not understand why the Elder held back. "Please, Christian. No more secrets. I respect your vows and your faith, but just as with the Tree of Life, you mustn't hold back."

The Elder clearly struggled. His face contorted as he worked his mouth. "You're … you're right, Bram. Admittedly, this news will come as a shock to many gathered here today. And you should know … I am taking a huge risk in revealing this information. I took a vow of confidentiality."

Bram pled with him. "Christian … you should understand by now what will happen if I or my crew is left unprepared. We must have as much information as possible if we are to face the Ahrimen. We talked about this."

The Elder shook his head. "No … it's not that …."

Jeremiah cleared his throat. "My old friend, I'd urge you to go ahead and spit it out. I'm told by my colleagues that this portal won't last for much longer."

It seemed to do the trick. Christian winced as he dropped his firebomb. "I understand. What I'm trying to say … is that my old teacher and mentor … the one you all know as Maurice Vance … _is alive!_ "

Even Bram gasped at the news. People on both sides of the portal loosened their jawbones. Jeremiah almost leapt out of his chair, his eyes as wide as saucers. "What? Where is he?!"

The outburst must have come across as hostile to the Gaian priests. They leapt from their posts to defend their Elder, and pretty soon the room was in chaos. Sadly, it affected the portal, which wavered and fizzled on the wall.

Lady Black cried out as the image slowly faded. "Sir Morrison. Sir Morrison, please! You must prioritize Axismundi. If you are unable to reach it by the next time the Zohar is disrupted—"

Sadly, her final words were cut off as the image blinked out of existence. Bram scrambled to his feet, but he was blocked by multiple priests who stood in his path. "Christian! Christian, please. I must speak with you!"

The Elder elbowed his way to Bram. "Sons! Daughters! You have no need to protect me from Sir Morrison."

After a bit of hesitation, the priests allowed their Elder to stand before the Knight. He leaned close and whispered in Bram's ear. "I spoke with him ten days ago, shortly after you left for Angkor. He's at the Library of Tanis, but not for much longer."

As soon as he finished, Malcomb stepped in front. "Your Eminence, we are worried about the disclosures today. We must deliberate in council at once."

The Elder nodded. "Of course, but first I must conclude a few things with Sir Morrison."

"I don't think you understand," Malcomb insisted. "This information is highly sensitive, and if word gets out, it would be a direct threat to our core values. We must convene and discuss possible remediations. Just look around! There are too many priests present, and word travels fast. If our people were ever to question their faith …."

The Elder glanced around the room at the two dozen priests and priestesses who were all noisily discussing what they had seen and heard. "I see your point," he admitted. "Bram, you must go immediately. Otherwise, you risk the trail running cold. Keep in mind that he might be disguised as someone else. You'll need to be resourceful to find him."

Bram held up his hands. "But, what should I look for? I don't even know what he used to look like!"

"I'm sorry, but I can't help," the Elder admitted. "All I can say is that Vance will have changed his appearance to blend into society. You won't find him by name, either, nor do I suggest you mention him to anyone! Just … remember what I told you. And good luck!"

"Elder!" Malcomb pleaded with urgency. Bram understood that he would get no more of Christian's time. By now, Cedric and the others had gathered as well.

"We need fuel," the craftsman called after the Elder as he was being dragged away.

The Elder yelled out a few words as he was one foot out the door. "I'll instruct one of my acolytes to help you refuel. I'm sorry I can't be of more help."

Quon looked very displeased. "Did everyone here forget why we came? When did we become last priority?"

Bram sighed. "I don't think they have much more to tell us. The Gaians are more concerned about defending their belief system."

"So what do we do now?" Kane asked.

"We find Maurice Vance," Bram told him, while conveying the Elder's last message.

Bram felt another presence from behind. He knew it was Rosa by the way his sunstone vibrated from inside its satchel. He needed to find a moonstone quickly, yet now there was one more barrier to overcome. Not to mention Lady Black's warning about Axismundi.

Even so, he was comforted by the sound of her voice. "Where do we find him? Did Christian tell you anything?"

"He gave us a place to start," Bram answered. "We must go to the Library of Tanis in Malden. Then we just need to look for someone who's resourceful … with powerful connections. We know he has a vested interest in the sunstones, so we might look for anyone researching ancient history, myths, or similar subjects."

"He also has a keen interest in you," Kane added.

Bram was intrigued. "What makes you say that?"

The Templar explained. "Christian said that Vance had contacted him shortly after you left for Angkor. It's obvious that you were the subject of conversation, which means that he's been following your exploits."

"Actually," Bram clarified, "Christian only said that he spoke with Vance. He didn't say that Vance contacted him."

Cedric chuckled. "I'm with Kane. It's not like Vance would have given Christian the power to contact him. And if you believe otherwise, Bram, I might have a fleet of airships to sell you."

Bram grinned at Cedric's jab. He and Kane made some excellent points. "Alright, fair enough. I agree. Then I suppose we're off to Malden." He paused, noting the anxious look on Rosa's face. "Rosa, what's wrong?"

She sighed. "It's nothing. I'm just frustrated that we have so little to go on. I had hoped that Christian knew where to look for the moonstones."

Bram was crushed. He understood her concern all too well, but there was little he could say to comfort her. Then again, perhaps there was. He just had to believe.

"We'll find a cure," he promised. "Vance will help us, Rosie. I promise. And who knows? If he's as powerful as everyone thinks, perhaps he already has a moonstone."

Bram certainly did not know this for sure, but it felt like the right thing to do to offer Rosa some hope. Fortunately, it seemed to cheer her up.

"We should go," Quon suggested, pointing to the scores of priests and priestesses shuffling about the room.

Bram agreed. "Cedric, see if you can find someone who can help with refueling the _Heron_. If they give you any trouble, just tell them the Elder sent you. He'll back you up if they ask. Kane, see if you can help him out."

The craftsman nodded, and he and the Templar started asking around.

"Rosa, Quon, let's find somewhere where we can talk in private about how we're going to track down Vance."

The three left the downstairs laboratory. The next leg of their journey awaited them.


	37. Chapter 10, Part V

**.**

* * *

 **Part V**

 _Afternoon of Primoris, Sixth Day of Duskmoon_

* * *

When the portal finally closed, Madeline's shoulders sagged and she let out a deep sigh. The conversation could have gone _a lot_ better, but at least she had accomplished her primary goals. Lady Black's explanation of the Zohar and Axismundi was clear and effective, and Bram Morrison now had the right knowledge to prioritize his journey. As for the outburst that ruined what should have been a better closure, she left that blame squarely at the feet of the Gaian Elder.

She could hardly blame Jeremiah for coming across strongly, when Christian was the one who released the firebomb of an announcement about Maurice Vance. She had very nearly leapt out of her seat, herself! To think the man had kept it secret for so long ….

Most of the world believed that Maurice was dead. After the scandal, people figured he had simply faded away and succumbed to old age. As far as they knew, he was a disgraced wizard, and Christian was his forgotten apprentice.

This had surely made it difficult for the young researcher to continue his work. There was not a guild on the planet who would risk their reputation to hire a man connected to the most famous of all scandals. So when Christian joined the Gaian priests, Madeline had always assumed—as did many others—that it was the last resort of a broken man.

Of course, with Christian's latest admission, Madeline's impression of the Elder changed considerably. In fact, she now wondered if joining the Gaians had been Vance's idea all along. After all, what better way to gain access to all those hidden Gaian secrets—such as the vaults containing ancient tomes and documents that were more than a thousand years old? There was a time when Maurice would have killed to obtain these. Quite possibly, he still wanted them and put his former apprentice up to the task of rising to greatness and granting him access.

Madeline had to wonder … who was Maurice Vance? She thought she knew the man, back when they were in love. But now, after thirty long years with nary a word, perhaps the feelings had been far from mutual. Perhaps she was merely another tool for Maurice to exploit to gain what he wanted. The Capricorn Stone, for instance. Then again, that plan hardly went the way the once-brilliant wizard had hoped.

Either way, it was time for Madeline to move on. She would have more time to ponder poor life decisions later. But for now, she had to address her new obligations. Jeremiah had agreed to step down, as promised, which put Madeline in charge of the Circle of Eight … well, _seven_ , until they found a suitable replacement. As head cleric, Madeline hoped to make the cure for the damaged Zohar her first achievement. And she expected to begin this journey just as soon as she thanked the roomful of wizards who had contributed their efforts to the communications portal.

For most of these men and women, it was their final duty in Kish. There was nothing left of the former woodland village but barren banks of sticks and mud. Even the Nexus was scheduled for permanent closure as soon as the clerics were ready to leave. Any able-bodied people around at this point were assumed to volunteer to help injured patients reach the capital. The silver-skinned spawn still swarmed the area, making it dangerous for anyone to make the trek unprepared.

Madeline had read the reports, and it was clear that these so-called spawn were the remains of the Elfen nation—people cursed and transformed into hideous beasts by the Ahriman, Libicocco. Thousands of tortured souls now roamed the Vinetan forests, attacking travelers and small villages. They were horrid creatures that slinked among the shadows and fed on human flesh.

Fortunately, they tended not to gather in large numbers. Most attacked at random, making it possible for towns to build fortifications and for reasonably equipped travelers to fight back. The creatures' hardened skin made them impervious to piercing weapons, such as arrows and swords, but they could still be bludgeoned or crushed. They were also vulnerable to lightning, an advantage for any reasonably adept black wizard, even with the current weakness in magic.

Even so, magic was expected to decline further, which meant that if the mobs of horrid creatures gathered in large enough numbers, they could quickly overwhelm the people of Vineta. Worse, if the demon Libicocco ever escaped its sunstone prison—the one that Bram Morrison now guarded—it could very well gather its thrall and lead them to conquer every kingdom of the Northern Continent.

Despite these fears, Madeline's top priority was to find a cure to reverse the degradation in the Zohar, before it became any worse. The cursed Elfen people were still considered a major threat, but a rupture in the Zohar would impact all life on the planet. Every bit of it would be destroyed. So Madeline had no choice but to prioritize the clerics' efforts to find a cure, and she planned to conference with her colleagues soon on next steps. But first, it was time to say goodbye to her longtime friends and colleagues.

Madeline knew it would be a somber event. As she went from one wizard to the next, she held back her tears while hugging and thanking them for their service. These were people she had known for many wonderful and precious years. Many had played an integral role in the Nexus' daily functions, while others were merely residents of Kish with a strong desire to contribute before moving on with their lives. But each of them wore the same heartfelt expression as she bid them farewell.

At last, she stood before a young man who happened to be the heir to the throne of her eastern neighbor. She had known the boy's father, long ago, and still held memories of Józef as a child. But now, he was poised to face his life's greatest challenge, and Madeline wished she could do more before parting ways.

"My dear Józef, I wish you the very best in your upcoming trials. I wish I could come with you to attest to the honor and courage of the Brandt family, but I'm afraid I'm still needed here."

His innocent smile played on her heartstrings. "Thank you, Madeline." His tone of voice seemed deeper and more mature, no doubt a mask to hide his fears and apprehension. "You have already done so much. I would not be alive if not for you and the other clerics. I owe you my life. All I can offer in return is this pledge: Should things go in my favor and you ever need help in the future, expect that Kitezh will be at the clerics' disposal—no matter what."

Madeline was ready to burst. A much younger Henrich would have probably said the same thing. She turned to the slender man standing next to him. "Mister Rommel, please take good care of His Majesty. I just _know_ that one day, his reign will be as strong and mighty as his father's."

"I believe that, too, Lady Madeline," he professed with a hopeful smile. "Farewell."

Madeline nodded and moved on to another dear friend, one she had known for decades. Back when she was a younger woman, Lady Black had spent a few semesters at the Nexus teaching magical travel. Madeline had been a student in those days, but rarely ever socialized with her professors.

Even so, the two ended up reconvening at an alumni conference years later. They reminisced of old times and found that they had a lot in common. They even maintained a long distance correspondence for many years. Anja was one of the few wizards that Madeline felt comfortable confiding in whenever she felt oppressed by Kish's male dominated society. The older wizardress was a strong advocate of women's rights and had just the right words of strength and confidence in her return letters. Madeline was delighted to have Lady Black at her side again, but sad that it was time to say goodbye.

"Anja … dear Anja. Your arrival was timely and your knowledge of the Zohar helped us to deliver the right information. We couldn't have done it without you." She and Lady Black hugged, though it was a weak embrace. The wizardress seemed weary. "Are you already feeling symptoms, dear?"

Madeline was worried, since she knew that Anja had employed similar anti-aging techniques to those used when creating Lady Allura. The magic went beyond just forming a youthful and flattering body. It also addressed age-related illnesses, such as cancers, blood and heart diseases, arthritis, and many others. With these, the effects of old age could be postponed. Not forever, but long enough to feel young for many years.

But now, with magic on Gaia weakening, the powers holding back these afflictions were on the verge of disappearing. Madeline already noticed changes in Anja's appearance: creases along the corners of her mouth and eyes, a few strands of gray hair, and the slightest bit of weathering on her hands.

Lady Black sighed. "I am as well as can be expected. Quite a bit better, actually, than I should be for my age."

Madeline understood. Although she had shed her false external appearance, she still relied on the same anti-aging techniques. So far, she felt no adverse effects. But she was plenty worried about what might happen in the coming days and weeks.

"What's next for you on your journey?" she asked her friend, still hoping to keep the conversation alive. Long goodbyes were especially hard.

"I plan to accompany Mister Rommel and the prince, at least until I see them safely across the border to Kitezh. As for what happens next … we shall see where the fates take me."

Madeline smiled politely, wondering what else to say. She thought of one more thing. "Don't worry, I'm sure Sir Morrison received your message."

"I am sure he did," Anja responded. "I fulfilled my role. The rest is up to him."

"Indeed." Madeline wondered if she and Bram would ever cross paths again. At least for now, his future was uncertain. But for Madeline, there were other duties and obligations that needed attending.

"Farewell, Anja."

Lady Black bowed respectfully. "Farewell."

Having said the last of her goodbyes, Madeline headed to the conference with the other clerics. They would all be waiting in the appointed place, the large domed room on the fourth floor, directly above the atrium.

As she made her way up the grand circular stairwell, her pace was slowed by pangs of nostalgia. Never before had she seen the Nexus so empty—not even in the dead of night. She had always remembered the building as a place where Vinetan wizards walked with pride. It was a privilege, even for visitors, to experience the mirror-like marble surfaces and wide open architecture. But now, the emptiness had never been more apparent. Every footstep sent hollow clanks across the chamber, along with dull reverberating echoes. Each sound was a reminder of her home's demise.

When she finally reached the fourth floor landing, she turned around and looked down upon the atrium floor. The once familiar mirror finish was replaced with a lusterless coating of dust and mud. The very pinnacle of wizarding research and technology in the world had become an empty husk overnight. Just like the human body, when the last breath is expelled and the insides hollow out until only dusty bones remain. Madeline's precious Nexus was a corpse, and it was time for her to let it go, just like she did to her friends and acquaintances.

A cold draft blew across her neck, forcing her to tighten her cloak and huddle for warmth. Her bones were under a thinning layer of skin, reminding her that one day she would be like her dead Nexus. Likely sooner rather than later at the current rate.

But as tempting as it was to dwell on death, Madeline snapped out of the depressive lull and entered the conference chamber. In its day, Mediation Hall was an impressive room. Rows of seats wrapped in a semicircle around a central stage, giving the clerics and invited guests a place to debate institutional policies. Not just those directly related to the school and medical facilities, but also to local and national politics.

The clerics were all seated in the front row, hushing their private discussions. Simon and Jacob, Jeremiah's longtime allies, now regarded her with their undivided attention. Isaac, her good friend, sat beside Noah, the clerics' specialist in Arcane Magic. His expertise would surely come in handy when it came to researching the more obscure elements of the Zohar. Matthew and Aaron, the youngest members, were also present and poised to listen to their new head cleric.

The only one conspicuously absent was Jeremiah. Perhaps the old wizard had decided not to interfere with Madeline's first address, so that his presence would not distract. Or, possibly, he was still too embarrassed by his outburst with the Gaians to face his old peers. Either way, it was Madeline's first chance to address the clerics all at once, and she was greatly encouraged by their eager expressions.

"Greetings, Gentlemen," she proclaimed from her spot at the podium. "I won't waste time with procedural steps. We all know that this is our last meeting at the Nexus, and it's difficult enough without wasting time on old protocols. So, instead, I'll get straight to the point. Let's start with updates. Jacob, you were asked to survey possible places for relocation. Please present your report."

The balding man with bushy eyebrows rose from his seat and removed a small parchment from his coat pocket. He cleared his throat. "As you requested, Madam, we took a survey of wizard's guilds all across the Northern Content, ranking them in terms of distance, the quality of their laboratories, the content of their libraries and other facilities, prior relationships with Kish and the clerics, and any known skills among their members. We've narrowed the potential list to half a dozen sites, including the Conclave in Loulan and the nearby guild in our very own Lagash."

"Well done," Madeline commended. "Have you cross-checked the list against Noah's requirements?"

"Indeed, I have," Jacob responded, but Noah raised his hand as if to object. Rather than debating it, Jacob offered his colleague the floor. "I'll just let Noah speak for himself."

The eager cleric rose to his feet, looking like he wanted to say a mouthful. He paused to press up on the bridge of his spectacles, whose thick lenses strained a person's eyes just by looking at them. The old man was nearly blind, but his mind was as sharp as a sword. Among his distinctive features were thick gray tufts of hair above each of his ears as well as a short white beard that narrowed to a point on his chin.

"Madam, I've also reviewed Jacob's list," he announced in his usual squeaky voice. "Unfortunately, there's not a single one that meets our complete requirements."

Simon scoffed from his nearby seat, just loud enough for everyone to hear. "Beggars can't be choosers, you know."

Noah puffed out his chest and defended his position. "Yes, but in this case I won't be the one who risks the fate of the world because we chose an inferior location with substandard equipment, or … or lack of expertise."

Madeline felt it necessary to step in. "Yes, we all know the stakes are high, Noah, but Simon raises a good point. Do you have a viable alternative to recommend?"

The squeaky old cleric wrinkled his nose. "I have one idea … but you're not going to like it."

Madeline stretched out her hands. "I've already said this once before, but let me reiterate: we'll not disparage anyone's ideas, especially not now when we're desperate for solutions. So, Noah, please feel unencumbered to offer your suggestion, and we'll deliberate using clearly articulated rationale."

Noah sighed as he looked at his peers. Doubt was written all over his face. "There are only a few libraries in the world worth a salt, Madam, and we'll need the very best. Unfortunately, one of these was destroyed along with Angkor, while the other is on the other side of the world." Madeline understood the references to both the Archives as well as the Library of Tanis in Malden. Neither were viable locations.

The high-pitched cleric continued. "However, there is one library that holds resources greater than either of these … and it lies in Minoa."

The reaction was instantly averse.

"You can't possibly recommend going there!" Simon wailed.

Jacob added his two coppers. "They'd turn us away for sure—even if we groveled on hands and knees."

"Besides," Aaron added cynically, "they don't care about anything if it can't be squared away with their scripture. Just look at how they treated Lady Black, whose resident city is still home to many who worship Gaia. The whole Minoan society is a backwater joke, ruled by bigots and zealots."

Madeline felt that Aaron had crossed a line, and she almost rebuked him when Isaac spoke out. So she held her tongue until Isaac finished.

"That might be true," he conceded, "but don't you wonder, sometimes? About the Goddess, I mean?"

Aaron rolled his eyes. "Wonder what? That a cosmic being of immense power just decided to create life on our planet and disappear? We're scientists, Isaac. We conduct research and believe in data … not bedtime stories."

"Yes, of course!" Isaac adjusted his robes uncomfortably. Madeline remained silent, giving her colleague a chance to defend himself. "All I wonder is if there might be some truth that we're missing. Not just the way the Gaian scripture puts it, but more like the way our own views have changed about the Zohar."

Aaron's eyes grew wide and indignant. "You wouldn't dare equate their freakish idol with our Zohar!"

"Aaron, show some respect!" It was finally time for Madeline to intervene. She detested bullying, even when it was under the guise of reasoned debate. "Nothing is so sacred that it can't be the subject of scrutiny. Now, Isaac, please elaborate."

Isaac's cheeks flushed. Sometimes, he was too passive and tended to yield his position too quickly, especially to stronger personalities. But this time, Madeline felt he had something valuable to add, and she would grant him the floor for as long as he needed.

After a few nervous breaths, he continued. "Consider how our views of the Zohar have evolved based on new evidence. Before hearing Lady Black's theories, we had imagined an invisible aether that transferred magical energy. But, now we know the Zohar is an entire realm—perhaps even a whole new Universe filled with mystical energy. Just imagine how much more about this Universe … or shall I say, Multiverse … we have yet to understand."

"Yes, our knowledge will always evolve," Jacob affirmed. "But if you're suggesting that the Gaians would ever be flexible enough with their dogma to accept the Zohar as part of their canon—well, think again!"

"I didn't mean them," Isaac clarified. "I was wondering if _we_ could benefit from a better understanding of Gaian canon. What if there are certain aspects of the Goddess that lead us to a better understanding of our own theories?"

Aaron snickered. "I mean no disrespect to my fellow cleric," he said in a voice dripping with sarcasm, "but I think our resident surgeon might benefit from sticking to his own domain and leaving the Arcane studies to the rest of us."

Madeline wondered how fiercely she should confront the younger cleric in front of his peers. He seemed to obey her instructions only at a minimum, and his patronizing response was overtly disrespectful to both her and Isaac. As she thought of what to say, an unlikely source spoke out in support.

"Scoff if you will," Noah contested, "but I was about to suggest the same thing."

Aaron spread out his arms in disbelief. "Are you joking? How could you suggest that a Gaian myth be a new source of wisdom? Did everyone here suddenly lose their minds?"

"Aaron, this is my last warning," Madeline admonished. "If you continue to lash out with ad hominem attacks, I'll have you removed from this discussion. Besides, Noah knows more about the Zohar than any of us. You would do well to listen."

The cleric glared back at Madeline, but in the end he lowered his head and apologized. Nevertheless, she would need to speak with him later. The last thing she needed was one man thinking she was soft enough to walk over, and then giving that impression to his peers.

Fortunately, Noah knew how to lighten the mood with some minor self-deprecation. "I appreciate the flattery, Madam, but I submit that I'm no more than a simple-minded man with plenty of wild speculation. Even so, I'm intrigued by this idea of Axismundi, the so-called Tree of Life. And I think there might be something to it."

"How so?" Madeline probed, hoping to get the discussion back on track with something substantive.

Noah looked to his peers on either side, looking like he was ready to go out on a limb. "Gentlemen and Madam, suppose for a moment that an artifact exists on this planet with the same properties of Axismundi."

Simon jumped in. "You mean, an object capable of being the original source of life on the planet, according to Christian?"

"Yes," Noah concurred, "but suppose it merely gave the Ancient Gaians that impression due to its life-giving curative properties. Perhaps it works through a property of the Universe that we have yet to fully understand."

"Ahh," Isaac mused, as if he had just made a connection. "You're suggesting that Axismundi might be used as a cure for the Zohar."

A few murmurs passed in between the other clerics, leaving Noah with a bit of a perplexed expression. "Why, yes … I was about to suggest that, but I think you skipped several steps ahead of me. Essentially, I believe the Ancient Gaians might have stumbled upon an artifact of great power and later wrote about it in their scripture. Based on what we've heard from Christian, I believe at least a part of it might be useful as a cure. But to know for sure, I'd like to travel to Minoa and read the old documents for myself. I hesitate to say that it's our only option, but at the moment I have no better leads."

A few murmurs started, but Madeline jumped in before they turned into private conversations. "Isaac, Noah, thank you for the useful hypothesis. But, in order for this to be a viable option, we'll need to figure out how to reach Minoa from across the Great Ocean. All the southern ports have been impacted by the tsunami. And even if we manage to get there, we'd also need to determine how to convince the Gaians to work with us."

"Well, we do have our boat," Matthew suggested.

"What boat?" Madeline was shocked. She never would have thought that anything like that could have survived the tsunami.

"Jeremiah instructed Aaron and me to build one," Matthew clarified. "It was shortly after the tsunami hit, back when our powers were a bit stronger."

"That's right," Aaron added. "It still needs some final touches, but I think if we worked on it together, we'd have something solid enough to reach Minoa by the end of the day."

"But what about the Gaians?" Jacob pressed. "Do you truly think they'll allow us into their sacred vaults, when even their own priests require decades of service to gain the same privilege? How do we know they won't turn us away as soon as we get there?"

"They won't," a voice by the room's entrance asserted. It was Jeremiah, and he looked like he had been standing there listening for quite some time.

"So you came," Madeline observed, somewhat comforted to see him.

The old wizard nodded. "I didn't want to crash the party, but I couldn't stand by and let a good idea get shot down so easily."

Aaron glared at him incredulously. "And you think we can just show up unannounced and convince those zealots there to work with us? What makes you so sure?"

Jeremiah offered him a toothy grin. "I've been in politics a long time, my boy, and I've never seen a better opportunity. Just think about the state of the world in the week it will take us to sail there. If our calculations are correct, magic will be almost gone, and the Gaians will be in an existential crisis. After all, their people believe that magic comes from the Goddess. So when it suddenly disappears, the senior priests will be desperate for a solution. We'll just happen to offer them one … one which includes their own canon, no less! I think they'll take it, even if it contains a piece of the Zohar along with it."

Madeline loved the idea, though she had to admit it had a wonderfully devious edge to it. The Gaians would surely fear losing control over their people, which would happen if word spread that the Goddess had lost Her powers. Faith was a powerful tool, and the Gaians had wielded it for many centuries. Madeline was slowly warming to the idea, but one thing still held her back: Maurice Vance.

Sir Morrison had gone to find the old wizard and stood a good chance of doubling back on Minoa. Madeline feared what it would be like to face her old lover after so many years. Of course, it was silly to let such a thing hold her back from an otherwise good idea. She had a duty, and past love affairs ought not to be a factor at all! Vance had disappeared thirty years ago, and she had long forgotten about him. The only problem was that her heart still ached every time she thought about him.

She cleared her mind. It was neither the time nor the place to pine over a long forgotten man. She was committed to her job and was not about to let old feelings rule her decisions. It made no difference whether Maurice was there or not.

"That's right." She was suddenly aware that she had voiced her inner feelings, but she covered it quickly with a clever follow-up. "Noah has my full confidence. If he thinks the answers are somewhere within the Gaian vaults, then it's the right place to start."

"And if we hit a dead end?" Aaron challenged.

Jeremiah swooped in with the right answer. "By the time we reach Minoa, we'll already be halfway to Malden. If our compelling argument can't change the Gaians' minds, we might as well sail the rest of the way and use the Library at Tanis."

It was a good plan. Though Tanis was much farther than Madeline would have liked, it did make for an adequate backup solution. Once again, her former adversary surprised her with his ingenuity. But, regardless of the source, she still had to seize the vote. It was necessary to prevent the clerics from second-guessing the decision later. After a week at sea, high tensions could easily fracture the Circle and destroy any chance of a cooperative effort.

Madeline knew that leadership took more than just a commanding voice, especially to a group of alpha-male wizards. They needed some skin in the game and a belief that it was partly their idea. Otherwise, men had a habit of resisting a woman's decision.

"A vote, then," she announced. "All those in favor?"

Jeremiah abstained while four hands went up: Isaac, Noah, Matthew, and Jacob.

"Those opposed?"

She figured Aaron would signal his disapproval, and she was right. Though, surprisingly, Simon broke from his colleagues and joined the dissatisfied cleric. Fortunately, it did not matter. With four in favor, she did not need to be the tie-breaker. The other two clerics would follow the democratized decision.

"It's settled," she proclaimed. "We'll take off as soon as the boat is finished. If anyone has time between their remaining duties, I'm sure that Matthew and Aaron could use an additional hand. Meeting adjourned."

It felt good to say it. She had successfully led the clerics through their first major decision, without as much as a grumble. She wondered if she had managed to impress Jeramiah, but the old man had already left the room. Aaron was clearly displeased, but she was not worried about him. Matthew supported the idea, and he would surely try to convince his friend to do the same.

Even so, Madeline hesitated to declare victory. Much work was needed before the clerics would be ready to sail off. She expected fair weather, especially where they were going farther south. However, it was still a long voyage. Without any confidence in the efficacy of magic, seven old men and an old woman would need to rely on their own sailing skills and plenty of supplies.

And then, once in Minoa, the real work would begin. Madeline only hoped the world would last long enough for the clerics to fix it.


	38. Chapter 10, Part VI

**.**

* * *

 **Part VI**

 _Afternoon of Primoris, Sixth Day of Duskmoon_

* * *

Evelyn bent down to study the runes splayed across her end table. She had just received them from her counterpart, Lady Black, whose disappearance over the last few days had generated its fair share of rumors. Not that it was unusual for Anja to leave Rungholt unannounced, but this time people gossiped as if she and Konrad Rommel were in open protest against King Unruh.

Everyone knew that Unruh was under a lot of pressure, so Evelyn worried whether it would affect his judgment. So far, he had not made any formal proclamations. However, if the Surrogate King ever decided to denounce two of Kitezh's most prominent figures and name them traitors, it would divide the nation and give Unruh's critics a platform to use against him. Worse, it would alienate the wizards' guilds, who would undoubtedly stand behind their matron of black magic.

Evelyn hoped she would not need to get involved. She already walked a fine line between serving as one of the king's trusted advisors and supporting her kinsmen, many of whom had grown highly dissatisfied by Unruh's order to draft guildmembers into his ever-growing army.

Technically, the guilds operated outside the authority of the king—or, at least, many interpreted the nation's bylaws to operate that way. In actuality, the wording was vague, and historians believed the original founders omitted the authority clause so that wizards could govern and assume responsibility for themselves.

Contrary to that, centuries of coexistence with the monarchy had caused wizards to be comfortable behaving as ordinary citizens. They assumed all the benefits of laypeople, but with none of the legal boundaries. Unruh never liked that arrangement, so he became the first monarch in centuries to put the age-old relationship to the test. According to his logic, if wizards believed they were ordinary citizens, then they could be drafted.

Not everyone disagreed with him, of course. Many Kitezhians supported his recent conscription, including some wizards. No doubt the idea of toppling Angkor—a haughty nation who had conquered its neighbors and prospered off the backs of their citizens—was broadly appealing. Unfortunately, Unruh's only means to accomplish this task involved a massive battle, where he hoped to combine Kitezh's existing alliance with Koba along with a new one with Malden. Unruh's promise was that the triple-sized army would decimate its common enemy.

Unfortunately, Evelyn expected the resulting battle to end with nothing short of Angkor's total annihilation, which she and many others considered to be an abominable outcome. Sure, many of Angkor's leaders deserved to stand trial for war crimes, but no one wanted to wage war against innocents in a battle that promised massive casualties on all sides. With King Richard now dead and the capital in shambles, many Kitezhians were interested in peace talks.

Unfortunately, there was no stopping Unruh's war machine. Too many people were involved, and there was too much support behind it. Certainly, there was little that Lady White could do from her meager position as magic advisor. Even so, she ached to stem what she considered to be the slow deterioration of national unity and bankrupting of Kitezhian morals.

It was therefore a moment of relief when she found Anja's message waiting in her chambers. She could now set aside her worries and learn a bit more about where her friend had disappeared. She hoped it would offer a good explanation of why she and Mister Rommel had left, or at least be convincing enough to avoid charges of treason.

The runes themselves were incredibly intricate symbols containing vast amounts of information in a relatively small space. Their compact design made them easy to send, which was quite convenient given the mysterious degradation in magic. The downside was that runes were among the slowest and most tedious forms of communication. They were difficult to translate and contained vast amounts of subtlety. With great ennui, Evelyn summoned memories from her old school days that had not been accessed in decades.

As she translated … her heart skipped a beat. The runes told of a tower called Axismundi, of damage to the fabric of the Universe, and of a massive rupture that would doom all life on the planet. It seemed the Ahrimen were behind it. Evelyn recalled these monsters from Sir Morrison's harrowing tale, the day he contacted King Unruh from the skies above the recently defeated Angkor. Regrettably, Evelyn had been too busy to follow up on these demons, especially with all of Unruh's new priorities.

The Surrogate King had her on an endless set of errands, each of them seemingly more urgent than the last. She should have set some time aside to research the great demons of legend and better understand their threat to the world, but like so many in Rungholt, she had been more concerned with surviving a counter-attack from Angkor that, in the end, never came.

Reading more of the runes, Evelyn learned that Anja had solved the mystery behind the degradation of magic. Surprisingly, it had to do with the Zohar of Kybalic faith. Evelyn took her time to digest the meaning behind every rune, even as more appeared before her.

Next, she learned that a great tragedy had befallen the once beautiful city of Kish, leaving the clerics without a home. However, they had held a conference with Sir Morrison and the Gaian priests, in which they communicated the need to protect Axismundi from the Ahrimen. It was the same tower from Anja's vision, which also happened to be a part of Gaian lore.

Evelyn ended the message feeling lightheaded. It was a lot of information to absorb all at once, and most of it was horrifying! It was clear by now that Anja's voyage had purpose and was as far from the treasonous plot that rumors suggested. Evelyn swore that she would not stand by and allow her good friend's name to be besmirched, even if it came from the surrogate king himself.

She had a mind to march into Heinz Unruh's chambers and confront him directly, when she received one last rune. It contained a warning, suggesting the surrogate king could not be trusted. It was both vague and ominous. Of course, Evelyn knew Anja well enough to know the black wizardress would only omit details for good reason. So Evelyn resolved to be careful and maintain the new knowledge as a closely held secret.

She still intended to track the king down, of course, but she would only focus on topics relating to the Ahrimen and their threat. Leaving her chambers behind, she cast a simple locator spell, which sent a flurry of silver sparks cascading in Unruh's direction. This time of day, he was likely in conference with his direct staff, as Evelyn's spell confirmed. She finally caught up to him at the other side of the inn, where he marched alongside his retinue of advisors. She waved to get his attention.

"King Unruh? Might I have a word?"

He glanced in her direction, but then proceeded to march as if he had never see her. If Evelyn did not know better, she would have assumed he was trying to ignore her! She ambled to catch up. "King Unruh, if you could only spare a moment of your time. Please!"

The Surrogate King stopped his conversation and looked over his shoulder. "Evelyn, what on Gaia has you so worked up?"

For a moment, Lady White considered how she might look, running down a long hallway, flagging down Kitezh's king. But it should not make a difference. If a male member of Unruh's staff ran down the hall waving his hand, he would think nothing of it. Regardless, she had something important to address, and he needed to start treating her with more respect. He could start by breaking that habit of addressing her on a first-name basis.

"Uh-uh-uh, mind your titles, Your Majesty. The respect they evoke _does_ matter."

Unruh rolled his eyes. "I apologize … Lady White. But do you not see that I am busy?"

Evelyn tightened her lips. She was not some squire about to hand her king a banal or irrelevant request. She was the country's master of white magic, and when she came forward with an urgent matter, her king ought to take it seriously.

"King Unruh … I shall have you know that the matter I bring is quite important, and I would not have interrupted your agenda otherwise! We have had little to say face to face since the attack on Angkor, and I think a private discussion is long overdue."

"And what might I ask is the nature of these _important_ matters?" Unruh persisted. "My afternoon is packed with meetings, and there is a lot of work to accomplish if I am to deploy our troops tomorrow morning."

His response caught Evelyn off guard. She knew the Kitezhian army was set to begin its march soon, but she had no idea that Unruh would have it ready as soon as the next morning! Even so, she composed herself and replied in a dignified manner.

"It pertains to a message that I received from Lady Black only a few moments ago. The message contains … news that I believe concerns you."

Unruh's eyes went wide as soon as she mentioned Lady Black. He tried to pass it off with a smile, but Evelyn knew that she had captured his attention.

"Yes, of course, My Lady. How about we chat for a few minutes in one of these conference rooms? I can certainly spare some time for a person of your eminence."

Evelyn was hardly swayed by Unruh's honeyed words. He was patronizing her. But if it meant some of his time, she was willing to let it go. "Very well, then. Lead the way."

Unruh excused himself from his staff and directed Lady White to the nearest empty room. He closed the door behind her and took a seat at the long conference table. After making himself comfortable, he addressed her.

"So, My Lady, I am quite eager to learn more about Lady Black's disappearance. As you know, she vanished shortly after Mister Rommel disobeyed my direct orders and went after the prince. You know what this means, do you not? They are after the throne, while Kitezh is about to go to war. That makes it a matter of national security. I could hang them both for treason."

Evelyn scoffed. "Oh, come now! Is that what you think? Mister Rommel goes after his ward, and you assume that he and Lady Black are staging a coup?"

Unruh leaned forward in his chair. "Perhaps you should ask Mister Töller. He was the last one to speak with Mister Rommel and claims to have heard some rather treasonous words."

Lady White folded her arms. She was not happy with where Unruh was taking the conversation. "I know why Lady Black excused herself from Kitezh, and it had nothing to do with any kind of insurgence. Furthermore, I see no reason why Mister Rommel would, either."

"It is because he is delusional!" Unruh argued. "He buys into this tale that _I_ was the cause of the prince's disappearance, when both you and I know that Master Brandt tends to orchestrate his own excursions. Let me remind you of the child's history of dodging his wardens to partake in leisure."

Evelyn felt like slapping the smugness off of Unruh's face. "I do not need a reminder from you. I make no apologies for Master Brandt's history of poor choices, but the report I received from Lady Black is on an entirely different matter—one which I can assure you has nothing to do with you or your politics."

Something akin to a grunt escaped the Surrogate King's lips. "Very well. Present your report, and then we shall see."

Evelyn scrutinized the king's expression. If ever there was a man capable of hiding something, his name was Heinz Unruh. But she set her suspicions aside and relayed Anja's message.

At first, Unruh listened carefully. But as Evelyn concluded, his lips slowly curled upward.

"Is that it?" he responded cockily. "You truly think these threats of demons or Armageddon have anything to do with me?"

Lady White was almost apoplectic. "You are clearly unfazed by these revelations, but how can you think that—as ruler of one of the greatest countries in the world—such things do not concern you?"

Unruh cocked his head smugly. "My dear Lady, what you describe is beyond the roles of mortal men. Well beyond! You should sooner bring this matter to the guilds than to me. Or, take it to those blessed with mystical powers, such as our _friend_ , the former Gnostic Knight. By the way, did you not just state that Sir Morrison is actively addressing these concerns."

Evelyn forced her jaw closed. The man's hubris was unbelievable. She should not need to explain the obvious. "It involves _you_ because you control the will of an entire nation. We should be actively aiding Sir Morrison's quest. The stakes are too high to do otherwise!"

"No." Unruh showed no indication of being swayed. His voice was firm and decisive. "We have our own battles to fight, and they demand our undivided attention. Besides, Sir Morrison already has the help of the clerics and likely the Minoans as well. Let those rogue wizards help him."

Evelyn bit her lip. She had plenty of things she wanted to say in response, but none that would have benefitted her. "Fine, then. If the Kitezhian monarchy wishes to take no part in this effort, perhaps I shall take your advice and go to the guilds, instead."

"Hey, hey, not so fast!" Unruh waved his hands. "I need every available resource for victory against Angkor. We only get one chance. When we have ground our enemies to dust, only then shall I release my draft of the guilds."

Lady White's patience was at an end. The path was clear, yet this obstinate man blocked her every move forward. She would not hold back this time. She stepped forward, standing tall and proud. "Your Majesty, your authority does not extend to the wizarding community. You cannot force us into battle, if we deem something else to be of greater importance!"

Unruh pounded the table, sending a dull thud across the room. "You will not undermine me, Evelyn!" Lady White almost cringed at the sudden outburst. She opened her mouth, but Unruh cut her off. "Silence! I have politely listened to your spiel, but it ends here. You shall _not_ go behind my back or attempt to influence the wizards in any way."

Evelyn stepped back, her hand going instinctively to her chest. "Do not presume that I alone hold sway over my kind. Wizards will do as they please, no matter what you demand of them."

Unruh's face was stone cold and deadly serious. "I think not. At least, not if they wish to maintain the privileges to which they have grown accustomed."

Lady White blinked, feeling confused. "Excuse me?"

Unruh stood from the table and approached her. "My country grants your kind many privileges, my dear." He looked her straight in the eyes. "One of these is the honor of holding an advisory role inside my administration." His eyes then narrowed and his voice dropped an octave. "Another is the privilege to run their guilds on Kitezhian land."

Lady White shrank back. Surely this surrogate would not propose evicting wizards from their homes and banishing them from the country. "You would not dare."

Unruh bared his teeth. "Then do not test me!"

The king had given Evelyn plenty of reason to take him seriously. Even so, he had crossed a line. King or no king, she was not one to back down or show commensurate weakness.

"Do so and you would invite strife between wizards and laymen unlike anything we have seen in our lifetimes. Have you no care for the uprising this would create?"

Unruh chuckled. "You seem to forget. Only a few minutes ago, you explained that magic was weakening at an ever increasing pace. What have I to fear from wizards unable to cast magic?"

Evelyn's frustration rose. Once again, she needed to calm herself before responding. "Then let us not be selective of our facts. Using your logic, it would be pointless to draft such wizards into battle."

Unruh's voice dripped with condescension. "Oh, Evelyn … surely you know that I must prepare for any eventuality. If magic should return, I must be ready. And if not … that suits me just fine. After all, magic is one of Angkor's strengths, and I would be happy if it remains out of play. So … is that all you have for me today, or is there more?"

Lady White gritted her teeth as she stormed out of the conference room. Heinz Unruh's recalcitrance held no bounds, and more arguing would get her nowhere. Somehow, she needed to make progress without him.

Before she knew it, she was back in her chambers, her door almost off its hinges after she slammed it shut with excessive magical force. A few of her paintings and some china in her tea cabinet met with a similar unfortunate end. She was still seething when she noticed a small envelope on the floor. It must have been slid underneath the door; she almost walked right over it.

As she examined the parcel, she recognized the seal, which was from a grandniece on her brother's side. For the most part, Evelyn had severed all contact with her family due to their fierce prejudices of magic users. However, her grandniece had reached out a few years earlier in an attempt to reconnect. Seeing the letter was a pleasant surprise and a welcome reprieve from a certain rude and inconsiderate king.

Evelyn had fond memories of the young, strong-willed Kitezhian girl. The last time she heard from her grandniece, she was about to be wed to the Kenju Master of Koba. Evelyn had not spoken to Katharina in years, but that made the letter all the more wonderful to receive.

As the white wizardress scanned its contents, however, she realized that it was more than just a casual correspondence. Rather, Katharina warned of a warmongering new emperor with a thirst for Angkorian blood—which spookily reminded Lady White of another narrow-minded monarch. Moreover, Katharina believed that her kingdom needed to focus on a far more important threat: the Ahrimen.

Evelyn was stunned. It seemed an incredible coincidence that Katharina would send such a letter, right when Evelyn faced a similar problem with her own government. Reading further, she saw a request. Katharina had asked for a return letter that she could use to convince others to join her cause. Apparently, the reputation of Kitezh's most eminent Lady White held some influence in Koba, especially among those in the Grand Council. Katharina hoped that by showing the letter to Koba's leaders and revealing what was truly at stake, she could convince them to vote for a new emperor.

Evelyn breathed deeply. Katharina had managed to summon the courage to defy the mindset of an entire nation. It was the kind of bravery and conviction that would surely benefit Kitezh as well. Indeed, Lady White was happy to send such a letter. It would be her first act of defiance against Unruh, and she would not stop there.

Somehow, she needed to prevent a senseless war. Angkor was no longer the true enemy, and it was high time that the rest of Kitezh realized that, too. For the sake of Gaia, she hoped she would prevail.


	39. Chapter 10, Part VII

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* * *

 **Part VII**

 _Morning of Denuo, Seventh Day of Duskmoon_

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 _Author's note: this section contains some disturbing material that might exceed the current rating for the story. I tried to strike the right balance, but sensitive readers please be advised._

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After a restless and distressing night, Rosa arrived in Tanis, capital of Malden. The tropical metropolis was the wealthiest settlement in the southern hemisphere, nestled at the mouth of the Tigratese River, on the eastern side of the Southern Continent. Anyone approaching by sea would spot its mighty sandstone towers, decorated minarets, and golden onion domes from leagues away.

Malden's riches came from vast gemstone mines located beyond the Sands of Thar, a great desert wasteland that spanned most of the continent. In its center was the Wall of Noshaq, the steepest mountain range in all of Gaia. None but the most seasoned expeditionists could survive the trek through the desert or the treacherous climb up the mountain to tunnels boring deep into hardened volcanic rock. However, those who knew the secret routes were rewarded with caverns full of diamonds, rubies, sapphires, and emeralds.

To protect their riches, the Maldenese surrounded their lands with a formidable armada of devastatingly powerful battleships. Magic-enabled propulsion systems and anti-aircraft cannons allowed the ships to keep pace with and take down airships from the north. Though Malden's air force was far less modernized than Angkor's, their navy was second to none.

Malden was ruled by a royal family who laid claim to the mines and controlled the military. However, the line of Sultans tended to delegate governance and policy decisions to one of their many wives. The current Sultana was Khan Daria, and she was known to be strict and fearsome. Many from overseas criticized her repeated human rights abuses, but those within the city appreciated her crackdowns on crime and corruption.

Though her city had plenty to brag about, Khan Daria's true pride and joy came from the famous Great Library. The Sultana was not trained in magic, but she had a fine appreciation for knowledge and saw it as a symbol of Malden's wealth. Her goal was to cultivate that wisdom and make the library the largest repository the world had ever known.

In terms of size and depth, the Great Library had long been revered. However, it was always second to Angkor's Archives. But, with Angkor's Inner Sanctum now destroyed, Tanis held the new title. Even so, the Sultana did not aim to stop there. She wanted to wield her city's reputation of safety and stability to convince even more wizards to move their texts. She even promised to double the library's size in the next five years.

Indeed, wizards from all over the world flocked to Tanis in recent weeks. And if circumstances had been different, Rosa would have loved to join them and immerse herself in the library's knowledge. But not on this day. Ever since leaving Minoa, the Mark of the Ahriman had worsened. With each passing hour, the voices in Rosa's head grew louder and more distinct. It was only a matter of time before the corruption would be in full effect.

Her only hope was to find a wizard who most people on Gaia had assumed was dead. Maurice Vance was surely using an alias, and he must have changed his appearance so much in thirty years that no one would recognize him. Even so, Rosa had to find him. He was the only one capable of tracking down the moonstones.

She began her morning at the harbor, where the _Heron_ was docked. Cedric had deployed a feature that allowed the ship to function as a seafaring vessel. This was useful, since Malden forbade overseas aircrafts from landing. The city's only launch pad was reserved exclusively for Malden's own military units.

Cedric and Kane remained behind to watch over the ship, while Bram and Quon joined Rosa on her march down the wide boulevard that ran to the heart of the city. It was a busy thoroughfare, with shopkeeps and peddlers on either side sporting exotic wares. Meanwhile, residents and businessmen crowded shoulder to shoulder in between, all in a mad rush to reach their destinations.

The crowds in Tanis were denser—and ruder—than their northern counterparts. Every so often, one of the passersby would rub shoulders with Rosa, oftentimes shoving her out of the way. Normally, she would have handled these nuisances gracefully. But now, the incessant stream of voices rattling in her head had shortened her temper.

They were not temptations, as Christian had predicted, nor did they even come from the Ahriman. Rather, they seemed to be recordings of a distant past. Most of them were from women, and all were victims of violence.

Rosa had seen plenty of brutality in her life—most of it during the War. Even so, she never imagined the same level of cruelty and wickedness could be experienced from a mere voice. Rosa listened as these women fought for their very survival. Most defended themselves valiantly, but all eventually succumbed. Whether from beatings, torture, or sexual assaults, these women were exposed to unimaginable horrors. Many of them begged for their lives, pleading for mercy. But no matter how hard they tried, they all met with a gruesome end.

It was revolting. At first, Rosa tried to ignore the voices. They might have been actual occurrences, or they could have been evil manipulations concocted by the Ahriman. Either way, Rosa did not want to give Abaddon power over her emotions. She closed her eyes tightly, trying desperately to block them from her mind. Unfortunately, she would have done better ignoring a violent crime right in front of her. The urgency and mystery of the women's voices beckoned her to listen.

" _Brian, please … please answer me._ "

One voice pled like this for hours between tears of agony. Rosa figured that this man, Brian, must have been in the same room. The voice kept referring to him, even though he never spoke.

" _Brian … it's your wife, Sadie. Please untie me. I love you …._ "

It was disheartening to hear Sadie's pleas go unanswered. But she continued her one-sided dialogue for quite some time. And with each passing moment, her voice grew increasingly panicked.

" _Why won't you answer me?! Talk to me, Brian! Please …._ "

But Brian never did. He must have been in some kind of trance, possibly controlled by the Ahriman. Sadie never gave up, though. She kept on imploring her husband to help her, reiterating her love, right up until the point she started gasping for air. Brian was choking her. But even in her last moments, she must have truly believed that her love would triumph and Brian would come to his senses.

Unfortunately, he did not. Rosa's heart broke when she heard the last of Sadie's faint gurgles. Then … silence.

It had been an hour's long conversation that began in the middle of the night, before Rosa arrived in Tanis. While lying awake in bed, Rosa felt herself forming a certain bond with Sadie. She could not help it. This woman had spent so much time recounting tales of fond memories … memories of things she dearly hoped to repeat one day. Rosa found herself routing for Sadie and wanting desperately for her to succeed.

This made Sadie's death all the more tragic. It was an injustice that Rosa found difficult not to dwell on later. She struggled with the lingering anger and regret, since it felt like she had lost a good friend.

The same went for other women, too, except that many of them never mentioned their names. This made the tales all the more melancholy for Rosa. After all, the Ahrimen's reign had been a thousand years ago. No one was left who even remembered these women or the lives they lived. No one but Rosa felt any remorse for the pain they had gone through, and only Rosa was still alive to avenge them.

She decided that the only appropriate thing to do would be to name them. That way, she could offer them a bit of dignity in their deaths. They might have had different names in life, but they deserved more than to remain anonymous. One such girl became Francesca, a child of no more than ten years old. Somehow, Rosa felt the name was fitting. Sadly, Francesca's tale was one of the most painful.

Through wails and tears, she begged her father to end what sounded like a savage beating upon her younger sister. The abuse … _horrible!_ Rosa wished she could tune it out and then wipe it from her mind. It did not take long before the pleas turned to hysterics, and Francesca became the next victim. The blood drained from Rosa's face as the child's screams echoed in her mind.

Then there was Velma, a mother who tried her best to protect her children against a psychotic husband. She was struck on the side of the head, only to wake up tied to a chair while her house and children burned around her. And Sara, a young woman who hollered as she tried to outrun her pursuer. This woman's life ended just at the edge of town, where she tried her best to call for help.

" _Sir, please! Someone call the constable; I'm being chased! He's going to kill me! Madam … please. Help!_ "

But if anyone heard her, they did not respond, even as Sara's assailant pummeled her to death. Rosa heard the sound of the man's fist each time he struck the woman's flesh. Rosa's muscles tensed and her skin crawled. She closed her eyes, but it did not stop the sounds of the screams.

By now it was clear what the Ahriman wanted to demonstrate. Abaddon had forced these men to commit their crimes, and it wanted to show Rosa the kind of power it wielded. The demon relished in turning the joy of a loving couple or happy family into especially cruel acts of violence. So much heartbreak and misery … revolting! _Maddening!_ Yet, this was precisely what the Ahriman wanted.

Stress and anxiety coursed through Rosa's body. The crimes were so present. She started to feel like she was witnessing them as they happened. Except, she was no more than a passive listener, like being in the Memories of the Subconscious. She had no way to intervene, no way to stop the repeated abuse. She felt powerless. Indeed, this was what Abaddon wanted. That was how it made the sunstone's power all the more tempting ….

"Rosa, are you alright?"

She cringed as Bram's voice penetrated the cacophony. Unfortunately, his sympathetic inquiry was not welcome. Rosa did not want him knowing about the curse's progression. Knowing Bram, he would fawn all over her and waste a bunch of time … time that Rosa did not have. She needed him to concentrate on finding Vance, not on a vain attempt to make her feel better.

Besides, there was nothing he could do. Bram could not stop the voices. Not without a moonstone. So she had to keep her secret. She had to bottle her emotions … act like everything was fine and dandy … which she despised! It was ugly and inappropriate to put on a pretty face while listening to women being beaten and murdered by the men they trusted. She wanted to scream and throw the bloody sunstone into the river!

If only she could. Sadly, the Mark of the Ahriman prevented her body from obeying any command that would result in the sunstone's removal. If she walked even a span away from it, her body would be compelled to retrieve it. She was trapped … trapped inside a nightmare.

"I told you five minutes ago. I'm fine!" she snapped.

It was true that Bram had asked a second time, but it still felt wrong to rebuke him so harshly. Unfortunately, Rosa's temper was running short, and she did not have the patience to be more tactful.

How could she? The voices had kept her up all night. When morning finally arrived, she was groggy and grumpy. She usually woke before dawn and spent the early morning combing her hair and primping her appearance. But on this day, she lacked the initiative. She did not even bother washing up. All she could muster was a splash of water on her face and the prior day's wrinkled robes over her body.

Before leaving the _Heron_ , she had stopped to look in a mirror. What she saw could have passed as a banshee. Lines of stress marred her face and her hair was a tangled mess. Combined with a rotten mood, it was no wonder that Bram cringed and shrank back from her glare. She wanted to wipe the stupid look off his face, but there was no way he would believe that nothing was the matter.

Fortunately, he did not press for details. Surely, he must have suspected the curse was worsening, but for some reason he was willing to let it go. Rosa was delighted. She would have thanked him, but she did not want to invite a dialogue. Thanks and apologies ought to wait until after she found a moonstone.

Quon also took a momentary interest in her outburst, but he quickly faced forward and pretended not to have noticed. Rosa smirked. Quon was pretty observant when it came to social cues. She would not need to worry about him.

Fortunately, the march from the harbor was a short one. In spite of dense crowds and slow moving, Rosa arrived at the Great Library before High Sun. Its gleaming marble walls and tall columns towered above her. It was almost humbling: the mecca for scholarly visitors on a pilgrimage of knowledge. And yet, she would have no time to read even a single book.

Due to the crowds, security was tight. Christian had warned that weapons and magic would be banned, so Bram left his sword behind aboard the _Heron_. It was part of Khan Daria's new safety measures, which included anti-magic fields along the insides. Supposedly, it was for protection against rogue wizards. Although, based on the aftermath of Apocalypsis, Rosa doubted the need.

Armed guards surrounded the entrance. Only Maldenese locals and certified guildsmen were admitted, unless the bearer possessed a special pass. Fortunately, Christian had provided several of these, so it did not take long for Rosa and the others to proceed through the front gate.

As she entered, her eyes went wide and her heart sank. The library was packed tighter than a beehive. She thought the boulevard outside was bad, but the library made it look like a stroll in the park. Just crossing the front atrium was painfully slow. At this rate, it would take days to comb through the entire structure—let alone scrutinize every wizard!

With a huff of annoyance, Rosa looked for a place where she could get a better look. Fortunately, there was nearby stairwell whose bannister overlooked the atrium on one side and a few rows of books on the other. At the very least, it would help her to get her bearings around the entryway.

Taking a deep breath, she pushed her way to the stairs. As she climbed, hope dwindled. It seemed like any one of hundreds of old Vinetan men could have been Vance. Seeing one hunched old wizard was like seeing them all. She had no hope!

Even so, she squeezed up the stairs until she crested the landing. Then, at the far end of the upper level, she caught a familiar face. Her heart fluttered, but the man quickly vanished behind a bookshelf in the distance. Even so, she could have sworn she saw her old school professor, Jean Vieillechaise.

She could hardly believe it. The last time she saw him was the night that she had attempted to escape Angkor. Virgil Garvey had tracked her to Jean's abode, and the two wizards became locked in battle. Jean helped Rosa to break free of Virgil's anti-magic field, but in the end she was unable to outrun the evil wizard. And, sadly, she never saw poor Jean again. She had always assumed that he had been killed, but new hope was burgeoning that she might have been wrong.

Quite possibly, he had survived the attack and made his way to Tanis. In fact, he might have come pursuing a cure for the degradation in magic, as did so many other wizards. Half of the old men in the library were probably there for the same reason.

On one hand, Rosa's priority was in finding Maurice Vance. However, seeing her beloved professor again would grant her so much peace and relief. It seemed the diversion might be worth the effort. Although, she tried not to get her hopes up. She could have easily mistaken him for someone else, but there was no harm in looking.

She turned to tell Bram about her plan, but the Knight was no longer behind her. While climbing the stairs, he must have fallen behind. She glanced back over the bannister, but Bram and Quon were no longer in the atrium. They must have gone down a different passage.

At least this gave Rosa a chance to catch up to Jean without others slowing her down. But she needed to be quick before the man blended back into the crowd. Her heart was abuzz as she wove through the sea of people, and her eyes never left the bookshelf where she had first glimpsed him.

Along the way, inconsiderate wizards seemed to wander aimlessly. It seemed like nobody was paying attention. She gritted her teeth at the rudeness … the indecency! If she had access to magic, she had a mind to shove them out of the way. She was almost startled when a voice spoke up to her side.

"Rosalyn? Rosalyn Reynolds?"

She spun around to address the whispery voice, and there he was. Her heart nearly leapt out of her chest. It was Jean. As healthy and happy as she remembered.

"Professor Jean! You're alive!" She threw her arms around him, feeling an overwhelming sense of joy and relief. The feelings were so strong that he other voices went silent. At last! A blessed reprieve … at least for the time being.

The wizard smiled back from behind his long white beard. There was no mistaking old Jean Vieillechaise. He even carried his signature cane with the bust of an eagle on top.

"Of course I'm alive, my dear. It'll take a lot more than you-know-who to get rid of me."

Rosa hardly knew what to say. She was just too happy for words. She was not sure how many moments had passed, but at some point Bram and Quon emerged from the crowd.

The Knight's eyes were wild with concern. "Rosie, thank Gaia I found you!"

His expression changed when he caught sight of Jean. "I'm sorry. It's just that I was discussing the best way to search the library with Quon, and all of a sudden you were gone. But … forget about that. Do you know this man?"

Beaming widely, Rosa took Bram by the hand and positioned him squarely in front of her old professor. "No apologies necessary. Just stand right here. I'd like to introduce you to my old school professor and dear friend, Jean Vieillechaise. He's the one I told you about so many times before. He's alive!"

Bram's jaw went slack. "You mean the one who instructed you in white wizardry before we met? The same one who—"

Jean held out a gnarled and bony hand. "You must be the famous Knight I've heard so much about. Although … and, I apologize if I misremember … but I recall Rosa mentioning that you were part of the Gnostic organization."

Bram's cheeks flushed as he raised his brows. "Yeah, well, it's a pleasure, Master Vieillechaise. You're correct that I was once a Gnostic, but … let's just say a lot has changed for me over the last few weeks."

"No doubt." Rosa caught Jean sizing Bram's Grigori armor from head to toe.

Rosa tried to cover the awkwardness with more introductions. "Professor Jean, let me also introduce Quon Nan, the Kenju Master of Koba. He's also decided to join us on our journey."

Quon pressed both palms together and bowed politely.

Jean followed by doing the same, but then he paused, scrunching his brows contemplatively. "Journey, you say …? Might it be related to our … _previous encounter?_ "

Bram's eyes lit up. "That's right! You were with Rosa the night she was taken from Angkor. You confronted Virgil Garvey, didn't you?"

Jean held a finger to his lips. "Shh, you mustn't say his name so loudly, my boy."

Bram looked to either side, as if half-expecting Virgil to emerge from the crowds.

"Why not?" Quon asked. "You think he has spies? Here?"

Jean nodded while scanning the faces of various passersby. "Indeed, Master Nan. He has contacts all over the world. _Especially_ in places such as these. It's good to be ready for such a threat. A dose of paranoia might very well save your life someday."

Bram lowered his voice. "Thank you, Master Vieillechaise. I'll certainly be more careful."

Jean cleared his throat. "I suspect it might benefit us to meet in private and exchange information. I, too, have an interest in Richard's old First Advisor. Come. I know of a good place."

Jean led them beyond the bookshelves to a private stairwell in the rear of the library. It was cordoned off and guarded by two armed men, but they politely stepped aside as Jean approached. He whispered something to them, and they made room for Rosa and the others.

The stairwell led down several flights to a candlelit subbasement. The room was still chock full of books and shelves, but this time with a sprinkling of dust and cobwebs. Otherwise, the place was empty. Rosa was relieved to be free from the crowds, but she wondered how her old friend had garnered such courtesy. Certainly, Malden was the type of place to provide exclusive amenities for VIP visitors and dignitaries, but she wondered how a retired old school professor qualified.

"Quite extraordinary to be granted your own private section of a busy library," Quon observed, taking the words out of Rosa's mouth.

"I'm providing a special service for the Sultana," Jean explained, "and it has afforded me certain … accommodations."

He beckoned to a nook at the far end of the room, where some cushiony furniture and plush pillows awaited them. Jean laid back in a kingly chair in the corner, while Rosa squeezed between Bram and Quon on a couch facing opposite.

She was eager to start the conversation. "Are we able to speak freely, Professor?"

Jean leaned back, looking quite comfortable in his highly decorated seat with red, blue, and green glass cut in the shape of precious gemstones all around the sides. Malden's crest and colors were emblazoned on the cushions. "Yes. You can be sure that no one will overhear or otherwise eavesdrop on our conversation."

Rosa felt her shoulders relax. She had waited a long time to speak with her old professor, not to mention eager to learn about the aftermath of his encounter with Virgil. She remembered how Jean had recognized the former First Advisor and hoped his knowledge might shed some light on a few mysteries.

However, before she could pose her first question, Bram pounced with one of his own. Except, instead of sounding curious, his tone was accusatory. "Rosa told me about the night you ran into Virgil. He had placed you both under one of his spells, but you managed to face him anyway. I hope you won't mind telling us how a retired old school professor found the strength to do that."

Rosa shot Bram an angry glance, wondering why he would set such a bad tone in the beginning. Fortunately, Jean handled it gracefully with a slight arch of his brows. "It wasn't easy, Sir Morrison, but I'd hate to bore you with the details. Let's just say I have ways of handling difficult situations."

Bram seemed intent on making his point, which began with a scoff. "I'm sure you do, Master Vieillechaise. Nevertheless, Virgil doesn't use traditional magic. He wields the power of the Grigori—a kind of magic that other wizards can't detect. So unless you have something to hide, how about you humor us with the details of your escape?"

"Bram!" Rosa was mortified. The Knight had definitely crossed a line. "Whatever you think, there's no reason to treat Master Jean like he's some sort of suspect! You can be sure he has a good explanation."

"Now, now, my dear." Jean's calming voice soothed the fire in Rosa's chest. "Sir Morrison is merely being observant, and in this world, we need more people with that kind of mindset. As for your question, my boy, Virgil's powers are indeed unique, but they hardly have anything to do with the Grigori. Rather, they come from a very special artifact that he carries in his breast pocket. I think you might be more familiar with this object under the name … _moonstone._ "

Rosa's heart fluttered. "You know about the moonstones?"

She buzzed with excitement, but not so with Bram. If anything, his distrust magnified, and his eyes narrowed. "The moonstones aren't exactly common knowledge, Professor. How do you know about them? Can you offer any proof that you are who you say?"

Rosa gasped. Was Bram suggesting that the man across from her was some kind of imposter and not the real Jean? She wanted to object, but the more she thought about it, it did seem to be a valid point. Other than Virgil or Samuel, few on Gaia had knowledge of the moonstones. Not even Christian, or the other Sunstone Protectors. How would a retired school professor know so much?

But if that were true, who was he? One of Virgil's spies who took the identity of someone close to Rosa in order to prey on her? Rosa thought back to all the men who had preyed on the innocent women from her voices. Panic descended. Moments ago, she had reveled in the joy and happiness of reuniting with her cherished friend, but if it were all an elaborate lie, Rosa would feel crushed with betrayal.

Then again, perhaps she was overreacting. Abaddon's voices might have gone silent, but the curse might still have affected her judgment. After all, Jean had been Head Librarian of the Archives. He had surprised her with his knowledge before, and perhaps the moonstones were just another example of what he had learned in his tenure.

Rosa tried to look for signs. Bram's glare never wavered, while Jean gazed back without batting an eye. The Knight's question did not appear to faze him in the least. "I'm merely a worldly scholar, my boy. Of course, I did provide this fine young woman with a world-class education, and I consider that to have been quite an honor."

Rosa beamed. It certainly sounded like something the real Jean would say. But the response only deepened Bram's grimace. "You're dodging the question, Master Vieillechaise. We've come a long way, and we've experienced terrible dangers from those hiding behind false identities. So, excuse me for being cautious, but I must insist that you tell me how you learned about the moonstones, and also how you came to know Virgil Garvey."

Rosa's muscles went stiff, and the fire returned to her chest. On one hand, she wanted to believe that Bram was wrong. She wanted to step in and defend her beloved professor, who was being attacked, ostensibly for no reason. But, again, Bram's concern had legitimacy. It demanded an answer. She only hoped that Master Jean would answer plainly and prove to everyone that they had no reason to doubt him.

Instead, the old wizard's eyes narrowed. Rosa held her breath.

"You'll learn nothing from me, Mister Morrison. Mister Garvey has you right where he wants you."

Rosa practically choked. Jean's voice had changed. It went from the whispery sound of a withering old man to something deeper and more confident. Bram was on his feet in an instant, but not before Rosa leapt in front. Her lips trembled and hands clenched.

"How could you!?" She was outraged, and the voices in her head returned in full force. One that rang true was Carla's, a young woman who had fallen in love with a man who turned out to be a liar who stole people's money and ruined their lives.

" _I trusted you,_ " Carla wept.

"I trusted you!" Rosa pointed accusingly, taking Carla's lead. "You made a mockery out of a kind old man by stealing his identity, and I won't allow you to besmirch his memory any longer! If you're one of Virgil's spies, I demand you reveal yourself."

But the man sitting across from her said nothing. His silence stoked her anger. She was seething.

"Sit down, Rosa," Bram urged, trying to guide her back into the couch. "Let Quon and I handle this."

"We will question him," Quon added. "With my techniques, he will tell us what we need to know."

But the only voice in Rosa's head came from Carla. " _You lied to me!_ _You pretended to be someone you're not._ "

The words were red-hot coals rolling around in Rosa's head. Poor Carla was murdered when she exposed her lover's lies. But not so for Rosa. She would not allow herself to meet with the same end.

"He pretended to be someone he's not!" She shook her fist defiantly. "You can't let him get away with this, Bram. Not after what he's done!"

She was starting to feel confused. Was the person sitting across from her posing as Jean Vieillechaise, or was he the predator who murdered Carla and the others? Or, perhaps it did not matter. The world was a cruel place. Men were monsters who preyed on innocent women. At some point, someone needed to stand up against them … someone like Rosa … before they hurt others.

Bram again tried to guide her back to the couch. "Please, Rosa. It will be alright."

"Let go of me!"

The Knight was suffocating her! She pushed him aside, angry that he stood in the way of delivering justice. She was not some weakling who needed a man to solve her problems. She could make short work of this imposter with her magic.

"Rosie, what's the matter with you?" Bram looked injured. "Just look at him. He's not going anywhere."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that, Mister Morrison." The fake Jean rose from his seat.

"Sit down!" the Kenju ordered sharply.

But the old wizard did not comply. He rolled his wrist in the shape of a spell, and in an instant, Bram and Quon were frozen in place.

The fake Jean smirked, directing a quip at the motionless Bram. "You must have been under the impression that I am powerless inside the building's anti-magic fields. Sadly for you, the affect does not extend to the lower floors."

Now was Rosa's chance. Only she could stop this madman before he hurt anyone else. His crimes were unforgiveable. He needed to be destroyed. She could do it with the sunstone's power. She reached inside her waist pocket ….

"Touch this, Rosa."

She looked to the wizard's palm, where he held a small stone figurine. She recognized it from the day that she and Jean had confronted Virgil. Seeing it again doubled her anger. This _thief_ must have taken it from her dear professor's corpse. He must not be allowed to have it. She snatched it from his grasp!

But, as soon as her fingers clenched around the object, she felt a strange warmth. Very quickly, her anger disappeared, replaced with a wave of chilling calmness. It was like a bucket of cold water dousing the fire in her chest and dissipating the deranged thoughts in her head.

At that moment, she realized how close she had come to using the sunstone. Somehow, she was convinced that the man in front of her was the same as the one from her voices … which was pure insanity! She was utterly ashamed.

"There, there," the man who called himself Jean consoled. "That should help, I think. Remember what I told you that night? How I feared for your very soul?"

Rosa did remember! She had been at Jean's seaside abode when he revealed the pages of Vance's journal and explained about the sunstones. He told her that he had never wanted her to learn the truth. At first, Rosa was hurt by this, thinking it meant that Jean had doubted her abilities.

However, her professor revealed his intent had been to protect her from risking her very soul. And she realized that by exposing herself to the Ahriman's curse, Jean had been right all along. Of course, this also meant that the man in front of her had to be the real Jean. No one else would have known about that conversation.

"It appears that my fears were well founded." His voice was still deeper than usual, but now it contained remorse as well. "I'm saddened to see my favorite pupil suffer so greatly."

Rosa was without words. The man was both the same and different. The Jean she remembered had been a frail old man, but this wizard appeared taller and more commanding. Even so, he no longer appeared to be a threat. In fact, with another roll of his wrist, he released Bram and Quon from their stasis. Knight and Kenju looked confused.

"What's going on?" Bram asked. "I saw what happened, but I don't understand."

"Is this man who he says he is, or not?" Quon wondered.

"I am the same professor that Rosa remembers," the wizard revealed, "But I don't blame you for being confused. If you're willing to return to your seats, I'll explain."

Bram and Quon joined Rosa on the couch, but they looked cautious and uneasy.

"Rosa, are you alright?" Bram stopped short of making physical contact, but his hand hovered a hair's width from her arm. She saw love and devotion in his eyes, and for once, she welcomed them.

Rosa took his outstretched hand and held it. "I'm fine, now. But … this figurine. Had it not been for its powers, I think I would have … I would have …."

She could not finish, so Jean spoke up instead. The old man's face was still the same as she remembered, but his eyes were sharper and more alert.

"I'm sure you must know by now that Rosa carries the Mark of the Ahriman," he began. "Our exchange a few moments ago was intentional, so that I might provoke her anger and intervene at just the right time. The Ahriman would have succeeded had I not, eventually, but at least this way I've been able to limit the damage."

"You mean by providing the figurine?" Quon pointed to the object in Rosa's hand. "What is that thing?"

Jean nodded. "Yes, and you may keep it, Rosa. It's an artifact that I created to mimic the functions of a moonstone. Regrettably, it's far less powerful, and the effects are only temporary. However, I trust that it will staff off the curse long enough for us to find a permanent replacement."

Bram scratched his head, looking exasperated. "We're all very appreciative of your help, Professor, but I'm still confused about how you've come to be so knowledgeable about the Ahrimen, their curses, and the moonstones."

Quon eyed the old wizard wryly. "Something tells me that you are more than just a former librarian."

The old wizard smirked. "I believe you already know the answer, Master Nan, Sir Morrison. It's why you came to Tanis, after all, is it not?"

Bram's mouth fell open, as if something incredible had just dawned on him. "I'll be damned … you're Maurice Vance!"

Rosa almost choked. "That's impossible!" She bolted to her feet, looking the old man up and down. "You can't be Maurice Vance. What about those things you said? Only Master Jean would have known about them. And you carry his staff … wear his robes … and this figurine …."

She clutched it tightly. Abaddon's voices were silent, but she had plenty of other emotions circling around her subconscious: pain, confusion, disappointment, vulnerability.

"I know my old school processor," she asserted. "I was with him, every day, cooking his meals and doing his housework when he was too frail to do it himself." Yet she looked upon the able-bodied man standing before her. "And … and … you're not him."

It pained Rosa to say it. She truly wanted Jean to be standing before her.

The wizard took a deep breath and sighed. His eyebrows were raised and his eyes were full of compassion. "Ah, yes, I remember those days fondly, my dear. You did indeed care for me back then, but now I must confess that it was unnecessary. I certainly enjoyed your company, but I did not require special care or nursing. I merely needed the world to believe that I did."

Rosa shook her head. "I don't understand. How can you be Maurice Vance, but also the same man I remember?"

"Let me explain," the old man suggested. Rosa sank back into the couch cushions, feeling Bram's arm curl around her.

So-called Vance made himself comfortable as he leaned back in his chair and cleared his throat. "Thirty years ago, I fled from Vineta in the aftermath of a well-known scandal. But the truth was that I chose to leave and flee my accusers. Not because I wanted to avoid facing my crimes, but because it was my responsibility to go after a man known as Galiver Givry. He happened to work under me as an apprentice, but during my research of the Capricorn Stone, he managed to make contact with the most powerful fiend of all time, Lord Zagan."

"Virgil." The word left Bram's lips like a curse.

"Indeed," Vance responded. "That's what he calls himself these days, but I suppose the name doesn't matter. The fact is that I've been tracking him ever since. But, in order to do it safely, I needed to change my identity. My reputation made me an easy target, and I knew Galiver would hunt me down, sooner or later. So I turned to a former colleague and dear friend, a professor named Jean Vieillechaise."

"But why would Jean give you his identity?" Bram asked. "What happened to him?"

Maurice shook his head. "Sadly, the real Jean has long since succumbed to an incurable form of cancer. He knew his days were numbered, so he offered his identity before his illness became public. With his permission, I used powerful magic to permanently alter my appearance, so that I would look as much like Jean as possible. Since then, I simply followed in his footsteps, able to track Mister Givry with near anonymity."

Rosa's shoulders sagged. "So you _are_ the Jean that I remember. Only … you posed as a frail old man to maintain your identity."

Disappointment descended. The figurine might have protected Rosa from Abaddon's influence, but it did not stop her true emotions from squeezing on her heartstrings. Everything she ever knew about Jean was a lie. She tried to imagine how she could ever trust the man again.

Even so, he surprised her when he rose from his chair and approached. "Rosa … I have surely lied to you about my name. However, I've never been dishonest about my faith in you or your abilities. You were—and continue to be—one of the greatest white wizards I have ever known. And I continue to believe that, someday, you will surpass the wisdom and strength of your instructor."

Rosa closed her eyes. Though the man standing before her was not Jean Vieillechaise, he was still the man that she remembered. It was time for her to set aside her feelings of betrayal, as well as the perfect and unrealistic image of an old school professor that she clung to so desperately. The reality was that Vance's secret made no difference to their friendship, and he did not need to meet the perfect image that she had of him in order for her to love and respect him. Recognizing this was a great relief. Rosa's anxieties dissipated, and she embraced her old professor.

He tapped her lightly on the shoulder. "There, now. All is well, Rosa. Now let's sit. We have much to discuss."

Rosa returned to the couch. Feeling better, she pressed on to the more important questions. "Tell us about Virgil, Professor. We've been able to piece together bits and pieces, and you've confirmed that he now controls Lord Zagan. We already suspected he had a moonstone, because otherwise he would have been corrupted by Zagan's powers."

Maurice confirmed it. "Yes, indeed. You've done well to learn that much. In fact, Virgil—or Galiver, or whatever he calls himself these days—possessed the moonstone even before he became my apprentice."

"That surprises me," Bram admitted. "Wouldn't you have found it too suspicious to bring him on a research project to study the Capricorn Stone, when you knew he possessed a moonstone?"

Maurice shook his head and let out a deep sigh. "It wasn't like that, Sir Morrison. You see, well … let me start from the beginning."

Maurice twisted in his seat as if searching for a more comfortable position. "When I first met Virgil, it was months before my plans to go to Kish. He was a fledgling wizard, highly inexperienced, but full of eagerness and vigor. Ordinarily, I don't take on novices, but he begged me to mentor him. Of course, the only reason I agreed was due to the artifact he possessed."

Maurice moistened his lips. "It was a wondrous thing, unlike anything I'd seen before. And it captured my curiosity. For you see: the moonstone treats magic differently from other artifacts in our world."

"How so?" Rosa wondered.

Maurice leaned forward. "How familiar are you with the interaction between our Universe and the vast unknown energy source beyond?"

"You mean the Zohar?" Rosa asked. "We recently received an explanation from Lady Black of Kitezh."

"Yes," Maurice confirmed. "That's the term that the Vinetans use, anyway. Rather than expend manna to facilitate the distribution of magical energy—energy that we now know comes from the Zohar—the moonstones seem to be an intrinsic source of power. It's as if they were made of the same energy as the Zohar, but condensed into a form of matter. In fact, I'm sure of it."

"How were you able to learn so much about the moonstones?" Bram asked.

The old wizard shrugged. "I experimented on it directly, of course."

Rosa was taken aback, but Maurice explained. "You see, after accepting Virgil as my apprentice, I looked for opportunities to study his artifact. I'd send him on errands or give him jobs requiring long hours to complete, and he would often leave the moonstone behind in his quarters. So, naturally, I let myself in to study it."

Quon looked shocked. "Virgil actually allowed his most prized possession behind in his room?"

Maurice chuckled. "Seems absurd, doesn't it? But, looking back, I think he wanted me to find it. He'd flaunt it openly, wielding its powers to facilitate his spellcasting, as if tempting my desires … and covet it I did. That was how he wormed his way inside my closest circle and convinced me to take him to Kish."

"I think I understand," Quon summarized. "You accepted Virgil as an apprentice because you wanted to study his artifact. You intended to use him. However, Virgil ended up using you, instead."

Maurice frowned. "Indeed, that's how it happened. My greed and ego blinded me to his schemes. He must have known that I had future plans to study the Capricorn Stone, and he figured it was easier going through me than to try to charm the clerics."

Maurice looked depressed, and Rosa felt sorry for her dear professor. But, surprisingly, Bram stepped in with some words of encouragement. "Don't feel too bad, Master Vance. Virgil has crossed us all at some point. But Madeline told us about your true intentions, and we know that they were noble."

Maurice perked up. "Madeline, you say?"

"Yes," Bram confirmed. "She told us how you found out about the Celestial Convergence and how it would release the Ahrimen from their sunstones. She explained that you and she had set out to destroy them. At least until Virgil betrayed you."

Maurice sighed. "Ah, Madeline … I'm sure I ended up hurting her terribly. Of course, I could never have attempted to contact her. Not when I had her safety to think about. If Virgil ever found out that I was alive and attempting to contact loved ones from my old life … Madeline would have surely become a target."

Quon shook his head in disgust. "Virgil certainly had a lot to answer for, but what about the real question: why is he doing it? What are his motives? What is he working so hard to achieve that he would take decades of planning to achieve it?"

Maurice frowned. "I've spent a long time trying to determine that, too. Unfortunately, I still don't know. But you're right. He's been patient. That's for sure."

"What about Axismundi?" Rosa proposed.

Maurice raised a single brow. "What's that you say?"

"Axismundi," Rosa repeated. "We have an informant working with us, Professor—someone with an extensive inside view of Virgil's schemes. His name is Kane Harding, and he's thankfully turned against his former masters to reveal that Virgil intends to activate this tower, once he gains all the sunstones and moonstones."

"We heard the same from Lady Black," Bram reminded. "According to her prophesy, if we don't reach this tower in time, it could mean the end of the world."

"Not just any prophesy," Rosa added. "She specifically mentioned a Divine Premonition."

Maurice looked genuinely surprised at all the news. His eyes glazed over as he stared out into space and pondered.

"That would be most unusual," he finally concluded. "Divine Premonitions are merely hypothetical. I've personally followed up on multiple sightings of this phenomenon, and each time they end up being misclassified anomalies with a more terrestrial explanation. Then again, Lady Black is no ordinary wizard. Given her reputation, I'm apt to believe her."

"Then you agree that Virgil's destination must be this tower?" Bram wondered.

Maurice shook his head and rolled his eyes. "I know only bits and pieces about Axismundi, most of it from myth and legend. The Minoans believe it to be their Tree of Life, or some such nonsense."

"Christian explained that life originated from Axismundi," Quon offered. "Between Lady Black's Divine Premonition and the Goddess' artifact, does this not suggest that Virgil aims to challenge Gaia Herself?"

Maurice practically chuckled. "Christian told you that? I should have known. He's probably the one who sent you, too."

Rosa was surprised by the derisive tone. "He did, Professor, but I don't understand why that should bother you. Christian has been so helpful, and we wouldn't have gotten this far without him."

Maurice settled down and responded with calmer tone. "Do not misunderstand, my dear. I have no ill-will toward Christian. I merely disapprove of the way he mixes spiritual faith with academic research. You should know from all I've taught you that crossing the two is irresponsible."

Bram looked taken aback. "Are you suggesting that Christian would lead us astray because of his faith?"

Maurice cleared his throat. "No. I do not think Christian would maliciously deceive you, Sir Morrison. However, he would easily justify feeding you dogma to protect his sham religion than to provide objective reasoning. He's been that way ever since joining the Gaians."

"How can you refer to them as a sham religion?" Quon challenged. "Have we not seen enough evidence to suggest that the Goddess must be involved?"

"There is no Goddess," Maurice affirmed. "At least, not in the way the stories portray Her."

Quon looked practically crushed. Rosa knew that he and his wife still followed the old traditions, and she tried to imagine what it would be like for a person to have their core beliefs dismantled by such a learned academic.

"But, how do you know for sure?" Bram argued. "If Axismundi has such power and is the endpoint of Virgil's grand plan, does it not suggest something significant? How would you even prove otherwise?"

Bram sounded hopeful, which Rosa did not expected from the Knight. She had always known him to be a secular man, but perhaps his time as a Grigori had changed his mind on a few things.

Maurice looked sympathetic, but he stuck to his opinions. "I understand your desire to be open minded, Sir Morrison, but if you knew what I did about the Gaians—if you knew the terrible secret that Christian and his people have guarded for hundreds of years—well … you'd change your tune."

Rosa could not help but question Vance's ominous implication. "What is it, Professor? What is Christian hiding?"

Maurice took a deep breath. "It'll be easier to show you than to explain it here."

Bram grunted. "With all due respect, Master Vance, our most urgent need is to find a moonstone. We need it to cure Rosa's curse. So I'm sorry, but we can't spare even a moment to pursue other leads."

Maurice cracked a smile. "Rest easy, my boy, because the journey I have in mind will yield us both."

Rosa's heart jumped. "Truly? You know where to find a moonstone?"

Maurice nodded. "I believe I do.

She could hardly contain her excitement. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. "Forgive me, Professor. I've been through such misery … I'm just so happy to hear that the end is in sight."

Bram looked happy, too, but also concerned. "You're sure about this, Master Vance? I would hate to give Rosa false hope."

Maurice leaned forward in his chair. "Nothing is ever certain, my boy, but I've been researching the moonstones for quite some time. Almost all information on the subject has been collected over the years by the Gaians, and yet they refuse to part with their knowledge."

Quon folded his arms, eyes squinting. "Even with your prior relationship with Christian, he still refuses to part with the knowledge of his people?"

Maurice scoffed. "Hardly. Christian sits on a millennium's worth of documents that are only accessible to him and his closest priests. But in spite of his resistance, I've managed to find a few texts of my own—ones that even he doesn't know about. And one of these described the moonstones in stunning detail."

Rosa's euphoria grew, but Bram was still hesitant. "I'm sorry, Master Vance, but how can you be sure that the moonstone is still around. If those texts are so old, it doesn't seem likely that the information would still be relevant."

Maurice smiled. "The texts are still relevant, Sir Morrison, because they describe the ruins of an ancient city that lies on the bottom of the ocean. And I believe, if we can find those ruins, anything contained within will have remained intact."

"And how would you expect to get there?" Quon asked with incredulity.

Maurice appeared to enjoy himself. His smile crept even wider. "Do you remember when I explained why I was here, in Malden?"

"You said you were performing a service for Khan Daria," Rosa recalled.

"Precisely," Maurice praised. "Well, it just so happens that my service was to form an archeological expedition to this site. Of course, the Sultana has no idea about the moonstone. That's my personal interest. All she wants are the riches that I promised would be contained there."

Rosa could no longer contain her happiness. She beamed widely. "So, if we find these ruins …."

It was difficult for her to finish her sentence, but Bram stepped in to do it for her. "We'll find your cure, Rosie. You'll be free of the Ahriman, once and for all."

It seemed that Bram was now convinced, too.

Maurice chuckled. "Yes, indeed. The power of the figurine will be enough to sustain you in the meantime, my dear. But only if we make haste to the sunken city."

Bram rose from the couch. "Then let's not waste any more time here. We can finish our conversation on the way."

Rosa looked into Bram's eyes, recognizing the strength and determination that she had always admired … conviction that gave her the comfort she needed. "We're really going to do it, aren't we?"

His smile and nod sealed the deal. "Yes, Rosie. Let's go get your moonstone."


	40. Chapter 10, Part VIII

.

* * *

 **Part VIII**

 _Thirteen Years Ago_

* * *

Samuel rubbed his aching jaw. His father's magic had struck him pretty hard.

"Focus, Sam!" his sparring partner demanded. "If this were the battlefield, you'd have no time to lick your wounds."

Samuel deflected another spell. Today's practice was grueling. After five hours of nonstop training, he was exhausted!

"You've taken things too far this time, Father. I'm out of manna, and I've been drawing from spirit. I'm about to burn out!"

"Then improvise!" Manuel growled, hurling another bolt of energy toward his son. "Your enemy surely won't grant you time to rest."

Samuel dove out of the way. His muscles felt like glue, but he narrowly dodged the fiery arrow. "Please, Father! I can't!"

"We're not done yet," Manuel insisted. "You're better than this, Sam. That's why I've pushed you so hard. You must learn to pass these tests if you wish to survive."

Samuel heard an explosion from above. Shards of twigs and branches rained down, the result of a lightning blast that Manuel cast upon a redwood tree. Samuel jumped, narrowly avoiding a crashing limb. Unfortunately, he did not see the second arrow. His father's projectile glanced his shoulder, bludgeoning the bone and taking off a sizable chunk of flesh.

Samuel cried out in pain as he hit the ground. For a moment, he was dazed, but then a splash of magically created water hit him in the face. He choked as Manuel dragged him to his feet.

"You'll survive the injury," his father stated. "Still, we'll need to go back home so your mother can mend the bone."

Samuel could hardly speak. His shoulder was fractured, and the pain was unbearable. It ached deep within the tissue, lighting up pain receptors all around the injured area. His arm felt like it was on fire.

"It hurts!"

"Man up!" Manuel ordered while grabbing him by his good arm. "You won't lose your limb, kid, and I've taught you a valuable lesson."

Samuel despised his father's 'teaching' methods. He never understood why pain was so valuable, or why he needed to be beaten up in harsh exercises every day. Where was the war? Who were his enemies? What was the grand task that his father believed so powerfully in preparing for?

"Next time you'll use your manna more wisely," was the answer.

Samuel was hurt. His sore jaw hung open as he breathed heavily. "What? How? I've given you everything I've got."

"Not enough!" Manuel spat. "Learn to meter your spells. Not every attack needs to be deflected. Utilize your surroundings. Reserve your energy. I swear, you're the laziest apprentice I've ever taken on!"

The rebuke penetrated deep. Samuel's father always criticized. Even when Samuel put forth every effort and kept pace for hours at a time, Manuel never gave him a hint of praise. Samuel was especially proud of his performance this time. He performed at the top of his game for hours, but it was still not enough. Manuel changed the rules and raised the bar every time! Samuel's shoulder was not the only thing that hurt ….

Still, he knew better than to whine about it. Manuel had no patience for crybabies, so Samuel kept his mouth shut and planned to stay that way for the entire journey home.

Fortunately, the arrow's fire had cauterized the wound, so at least it was not gushing blood. Besides the searing pain, Manuel was probably right about the seriousness of the wound. Even so, it would not have hurt for him to apologize, or perhaps even show a glimmer of remorse for inflicted harm upon his own son. Samuel knew that other children were not treated this way.

Then again, he was not like other children. His parents were rogue wizards. They had broken the laws of wizard-kind and were thus forced to live as criminals and outcasts. They moved around to avoid persecution, sticking to sparsely populated areas. Most of the time, this involved remote wooded regions with enough hunting and water to live off the land. But in good times, Samuel's mother brought home coin and luxuries from passing peddlers.

For instance, his current home was a cabin in the woods. It had a stove for cooking, beds for sleeping, and walls to keep out the cold. When his mother Leah was not working, she cooked meals and provided homeschooling. But when she was away, it would often be for weeks at a time. For years, Samuel never understood why his mother was gone for so long, but he realized as he grew older.

Leah was a mountebank: a charlatan, a trickster. She targeted wealthy men and convinced them to fall in love with her. Then, after stealing their money—and ruining their families, careers, and reputations—she vanished with nary a word.

Later, she would return home with new supplies. Though Samuel hardly thought of her as a good mother, at least she sat down and taught him the ways of life. These included lessons in history, language, plants, and animals. And also practical skills, such as how people organized, how they set up governments and economies, and how they were motivated by greed and vanity. She told him about city life, class structure, politics, and so many things. Unfortunately, Samuel was never allowed to experience these himself.

Unlike other children, Samuel was confined to his parent's abode, never allowed to leave except under supervision. There were exceptions, but not for long periods of time. Manuel and Leah insisted that he remain close, and they maintained a structured lifestyle that kept him busy. In fact, the only times he had to himself were when his parents punished him—though such instances happened more frequently as he matured.

Along with age, Samuel began to question his purpose: why he was not allowed to leave the home, why he was forbidden to speak with other boys and girls, and why he could never visit the towns and cities that were barely a day's hike over the nearest hilltops?

These questions usually got him in trouble. Whenever he was not in the right place at the right time, he got in trouble. If he failed to live up to his parents' high expectations, he got in trouble. And especially if he whined about it, he got in trouble. All he could do was to swallow his objections, as he usually did, and hope that someday he would be old enough to learn the truth.

"Shh. Don't move and stay quiet," Manuel instructed.

Samuel followed his father's lead and crouched low as the two crept slowly through some tall grass. He slowed his breath, embracing the sounds of the forest. In the distance, a twig snapped. He raised his head just enough to glimpse the trees and brush in the distance. His eyes strained, but he was rewarded with a slight movement. From behind the trees, he saw it emerge: a Zenith Stag.

Manuel reached back with his hand, a gesture indicating that Samuel should hold back and keep quiet. Zenith Stags were highly magical, descendants of sylvan creatures. Manuel intended to capture and butcher it, since its meat was a well-known delicacy. Unfortunately, they were difficult to catch, even for wizards, due to their ability to phase shift—or teleport—over small distances.

The creature raised its head, gazing through the forest. Its ears laid back as if sensing something amiss. It sniffed the air, and Samuel's heart sank. His bloody shoulder would no doubt create an unmistakable scent of danger. Sure enough, the creature's body turned wavy, and in an instant it disappeared.

Manuel cursed. "Go home, Sam. I'm going after it. Tell your mother about your arm and don't wait up for me."

Before Samuel could respond, his father was gone. He sighed, knowing that the setting sun made it dangerous for wizards with depleted manna. Savage bears and mountain lions wandered the forest. Then again, Manuel would probably consider it a good test.

Samuel heard another twig snap from behind. Thinking of bears and mountain lions, he spun around, ready with his belt knife. Fortunately, it was neither.

He addressed the surprising visitor while putting away his knife. "Burning pits, Cam! What are you doing here?"

His friend Camilla glared back, looking injured. "What in Gaia's name is wrong with you, Sam? You were supposed to meet me today. Remember?"

Samuel winced. He did remember, but plans had fallen through when Manuel kept him busy for hours longer than usual. He had intended to sneak off after chores to meet the girl that he had befriended. Camilla was the daughter of another couple of wizards who lived near the edge of a town, eight hours' hike to the west. She had come a long way to meet him.

Before he could answer, a look of alarm crossed her face. "Oh, Sam! What's wrong with your shoulder?" She pointed to the bloody mess on his left side. "Here, let me heal that."

Before he could object, a flurry of blue sparks fluttered over the wound. He felt his shoulder blade slip into place, and the pain subsided.

"Cam, thanks, but you need to go. My father … he's close."

Camilla looked to either side and whispered. "I thought you said you'd be alone by this time. I hiked all day to meet you, and when you didn't show, I had half a mind to march home and forget all about you!"

Samuel felt remorse, but the situation could not be helped. He really liked Camilla, but he struggled with how to explain that it was not his fault.

She sighed. "Alright, I'll go. You don't need to lecture me again about your parents."

"Wait." He had to interject or else she was bound to get the wrong idea. "I missed you, Cam. And I'm sorry that practice ran long. But I'll make it up to you."

He really did like her. He knew that girls were bad news for boys like him, or so his mother claimed. But he felt good around her. Manuel and Leah made him feel crazy, but Camilla restored his sanity, a least a bit. And with weeks in between visits—which they agreed to do to maintain each other's safety—his longing for her had begun to manifest in strange ways.

She approached and leaned forward. The smell of rose hips wafted from her hair.

"Until next time," she breathed, giving off notes of honeysuckle. Involuntarily, he sniffed to get more of her scent, and then it happened: she kissed him.

At first he was afraid. It was the same feeling as looking down a gully that was so deep he could not see the bottom. But then it felt warm. His heartrate increased, and he perspired. He was speechless.

"I like you, Samuel Cortez," she told him. "I'll be around at the next quarter moon. Meet me at the regular place."

Samuel shivered. Letting go was almost painful. Much worse than last time. He wanted to grab her close, but he knew how dangerous that would be.

"I'll be there," he promised, feeling his heart sink. She had snuck back into the woods before he even finished his sentence. He was alone once again.

He wiped the drops of sweat from the back of his neck and took a deep breath. He liked her, too. But now he had to hurry home before his parents grew suspicious. They knew how fast he could run. If he dawdled, they would know, and he would need to explain why. The last thing he wanted was for Leah to suspect. She had a way of using her magic to discover secrets.

Samuel hated being afraid of his own parents. The way Camilla described hers, they sounded like saints. In the secret place in his heart, he wished he could run away from home and live on his own. If only there was a way ….

He thought about it as he bolted through the trees and down the hillside. He knew the route well, so it was easy to go at full speed, even as light dwindled. He slowed for the final stretch, since it was becoming too dark to see. Fortunately, his body had regenerated enough manna for him to cast a ball of light to keep from tripping over rocks or debris.

By the time he reached the cabin, he felt uneasy. Something seemed amiss. The lights were out, even though he expected his mother to be up. The only time lights went out was when the authorities were searching for them. Samuel extinguished his own light. If something terrible had happened, he did not want to announce his presence.

He slowed his pace and kept his eyes focused. He readied a spell, just in case. When he reached the cabin, he held his breath and entered slowly.

"Anyone home?" he whispered.

"Come inside," Leah's voice called out. She did not sound angry. "And shut the door behind you."

Samuel did as he was told, but every nerve and muscle tensed. When the door shut, he heard the whoosh of a flame, which ignited a candle that Leah was holding. His heart raced, but there was nothing to be afraid of. It was just his mother standing there.

"You almost scared me," he complained. "Why so secretive? Is it alright to speak?"

Leah nodded. "Yes, my son. Come here."

Samuel approached, albeit hesitantly. His mother was acting strange. When he was close, she took him by the arm and spun him around. His muscles were coiled tightly, like springs, but he tried not to resist while she examined his body.

"Your shoulder," she announced. "Your father said you were injured, but it appears to be just fine."

Icy fear swept across his body. Camilla's healing spell might have given his mother reason to be suspicious, and he braced himself for a full interrogation. Fortunately, she only shrugged. "Your father is in the back room butchering the stag. Why don't you help him?"

Samuel did not know whether to be relieved or concerned. "Father's home already?"

Leah gave an awkward chuckle. "Of course, Sam. He travels quickly using his warp spell. If you do well with your lessons, I'm sure he'll teach you. Now, be a good boy and help him skin the stag."

Samuel was happy to oblige, feeling that perhaps his fears were overblown. He wanted nothing more than to lie down and go to bed. But if skinning the stag was a step along the way, then so be it. He headed to the back room, where Manuel kept his tools and supplies. He almost looked forward to curing the meat and eating something better than quail and raccoon for a change.

He hardly noticed his mother entering behind him until he heard the door close and the lock click into place.

He spun around. "What are you doing?" he demanded.

His father's scolding voice responded. "You should be less concerned with your mother, Sam, and more concerned with this."

Samuel spun back in the other direction. In a darkened corner of the room, a light appeared, revealing Manuel hovering over a young girl. She was bound with rope, and a cloth was tied tightly around her mouth.

He held back from screaming, even though every hair stood on edge. The situation needed to be handled delicately. "Let her go, Father. Please."

"Silence!" Manuel's voice boomed so loud it shook the walls of the cabin. "You've disobeyed our commands and risked our well-being. And for what? This trollop?! How long have you socialized with her? And what else have you done?"

Sweat squeezed through Samuel's pores. "Nothing, Father. I swear!"

"As if you can trust anything he says," Leah added. Her soothing voice from earlier had turned dark and sardonic.

Samuel panicked. He did not want things to escalate, but it felt like Camilla's life hung in the balance. Tears streaked along her cheeks.

"We can wipe her mind," he suggested. "We can make her forget everything and send her on her way. She'll never think to look for us again!"

Manuel bent over and grabbed Camilla by the chin, tilting her head sideways so that he could gaze into her eyes.

"No," he said. Dark and ominous. "This is your mess, Sam, and you must be the one to clean it up."

A chasm opened in Samuel's heart. "What do you mean, Father? Why can't we just let her go? I'll never contact her again."

"That's not good enough," Manuel insisted. "You need to know what happens when you fraternize with people from the outside."

Samuel was stunned. There was no way his father could expect him to … to … he could not even think about hurting Camilla! He took a step back and found himself blocked by his mother.

"Do this for us, Sam, and you'll make us both proud."

He shook his head violently. "You can't possibly … I would never …."

"Unclasp your knife," Manuel ordered. His brows crossed and his face contorted. His eyes tunneled right through him. "It'll be easier if you don't think too hard about it."

Samuel stared in disbelief. His father was serious. He wanted his son to murder his only friend. But … it was impossible!

"Unclasp your knife!" Manuel growled. Samuel recognized the look. His father was not going to accept 'no' for an answer.

Except, Samuel had no intention of carrying out the despicable act. He clenched his hands so tightly they hurt. "No, Father. I won't do it."

Manuel raised his hand, and a spectral force swiped Samuel across the head. He fell to his hands and knees.

Leah grabbed his arm and dragged him to his feet. "No more backtalk, Sam. Do what your father says."

Disoriented, Samuel scrambled back up. He put some distance between him and his mother. "Don't ask this of me. I beg of you!" Fear and panic crept into Camilla's eyes. He could hardly stand it!

"I'll do anything. Hours more in training … I'll be at your beck and call … anything! Just let her go."

Camilla's gaze penetrated his very soul. She was begging for him to intervene, and he wanted to help her more than anything. He wanted to leap forward and embrace her … tell her that everything was going to be alright. These were his parents. They had raised him. Surely they were not monsters. They would not follow through with their threats ….

Manuel's face hardened. "I will not grant you this, Sam. You've left me no choice." He spoke another word of magic, and Samuel watched in horror as Camilla's head twisted.

The crack from her broken neck reverberated across the room, silencing all other sounds. Her body then slid limply to the side. In that moment, Samuel lost all feeling. He sank to his knees, his heart split in two.

Tears welled in his eyes. Camilla had meant a lot to him, more than he even realized. Not just as a companion and link to the outside world. She was more than that. Much more. Her kiss was still a spectral touch upon his lips.

"Stop this foolish sentimentalism, Sam," Manuel ordered. "You knew it had to be this way."

Samuel had to force the words out of his mouth. His body resisted, torn between sadness and anger. "You killed her! Why?!"

Leah shook him. "She was nothing to us, Sam. And if we had let her go, she'd have sent entire villages to our location. Be sensible!"

Samuel's sadness waned, but his anger grew. "She meant something to me, Mother! You never let me have anything. I do everything you ask, and yet you always demand more."

Another magical force struck his jaw, and Manuel approached. "How dare you speak to her that way? Do you know what we've endured on your behalf? What we've _sacrificed_ to raise you? Do you think we _wanted_ this?"

Samuel rubbed the soreness, but the hurt went much deeper than his jawbone. "What are you talking about? I'm your son …."

"You're a brat," Leah condemned. "I only agreed to raise an obedient child, not a sniveling wretch."

The rebuke doubled Samuel's anger. Raging guilt and furious betrayal circled in his chest.

"Settle down, Leah," Manuel admonished. "We don't need to escalate this. Let him sleep it off."

Samuel ground his teeth. He was not about to let this go. He had some choice words in mind, but Leah beat him to it.

"You know what he's capable of," she argued. "He's becoming too dangerous at this point. He's old enough to move on. You need to tell Virgil to take him back."

"Uncle Virgil?" Samuel was confused. His anger fumed, but he was cogent enough to wonder about Leah's comment, implying that he was some kind of bauble to be passed around. "What's he got to do with this?"

Uncle Virgil was probably the only outsider his parents allowed into the household. Supposedly, he was an old friend, but Samuel hardly knew him. He only spoke with Samuel briefly a few times, since Leah and Manuel tended to rush him out of the room every time he came. As for what they discussed, the topics were always as mysterious as Uncle Virgil's departures.

"Leah, that's enough," Manuel ordered. "Sam, go to bed. Your mother and I need to speak in private."

Samuel was done with being ordered around. His father was a murderer, taking the life of his only friend. As if he could just pretend it never happened ….

"You must answer for what you've done, Father," Samuel insisted. "She had a life! She was special—and kind—and you took that from her!"

Samuel felt his throat constrict, once again bringing him to his knees. His hands went to his neck. He could not breathe!

Manuel looked at him as if he were a filthy beggar. "I've told you before that I will punish insolence. You'll calm yourself, _now_ , or I'll have you begging for forgiveness."

But Samuel resisted. He would never respect this man again. His throat ached and his anger burned, but the man standing before him was no longer his father. It was a monster, a brute, and a bully. Samuel had never been so angry. His chest was on fire.

"Careful, Manuel," Leah suggested. "Can you see it in his eyes? This is exactly what Virgil warned us about."

But Manuel only tightened his grip. "Quiet! I know what I'm doing. He'll submit or he'll pass out."

But Samuel was not about to let this monster beat him. The brute had hurt him for the last time. His rage overflowed. Through sheer force of will, he wrestled with Manuel's grip and watched as his father's eyes widened. The master wizard was in complete shock.

"Now you've done it!" Leah warned. "You've doomed us both!"

The more Manuel fought, the more Samuel focused his rage. Even as his throat was being crushed with incredible force, he kept at it. His fury was his weapon, and it was working! The master rogue wizard had finally met his match!

Leah screamed. She pointed to the walls, which were covered in flames. Not imagined, but belching real heat and smoke into the room. The cabin was on fire!

"Curse you, Fiendspawn," Manuel hollered. His face glistened with sweat. "I'll make sure you burn to death!"

Leah bolted for the door, but before she reached it, it burst into flame. She screamed again, right before a portion of the roof collapsed on top of her.

"Damn you …" Manuel screamed, even as his own body caught on flame.

Samuel felt the grip on his throat loosen, but by now the room had filled with blackened smoke. He was going to die, but he did not care. His monstrous parents were dead, and he somehow felt that Camilla's death had been avenged. So he embraced the heat of the fire, which complemented the rage burning inside of him.

He looked up, just in time to see the rest of the roof crash down upon him.

* * *

~.~

 _Afternoon of Denuo, Seventh Day of Duskmoon_

* * *

The incident happened many years ago. Samuel was no longer the innocent boy who had faced off against his surrogate parents. In fact, now he was no longer human. He was half-man, half-monster, and his body was made of armor fused with flesh. A tattered cape protruded from his back like leathery wings, while his head was a Gnostic's helm on one side and a demonic face on the other. A glowing crimson eye provided enhanced sight alongside a set of long curling horns.

Samuel Cortez had allowed Belial's form to manifest, but only partially. Though sheer force of will—much like the power he had summoned the day he vanquished Manuel Cortez—he wrestled back a small shred of his humanity. Even so, his body remained a grotesque amalgamation of darksteel and demon.

He stood upon a hilltop overlooking Xlapak, the capital fortress of Ek' Balam. From that vantage, he watched and waited for his archenemy to arrive. Virgil Garvey was somewhere in this faraway country, and Samuel looked forward to ripping each of the man's limbs from its socket. Like wings off a fly.

It had taken him a few days to track down his nemesis, but he managed to do it through one of Virgil's contacts. The man never saw it coming. One moment he was drunk and happy due to a streak of winnings from a high stakes poker match, and the next he hung upside down in a dark cellar.

Samuel delighted in prying the information. It gave him a chance to utilize some of his more … overt interrogation techniques. After an extraordinarily bloody session, he learned that Virgil had traveled to Ek' Balam in search of Axismundi. Apparently, the source was a rumor regarding a local coalmining operation, which had tunneled through to a subterranean lair. Apparently, Virgil believed that the great tower of legend would be found within that vast underground network.

Samuel almost laughed. He knew precisely what Virgil had discovered, since he had come close to deducing Axismundi's location on his own. If only he had done it sooner and beaten Virgil to it. He might have avoided the battle with his brother and that _cursed_ wizard who cast Apocalypsis. He would have never had to call on Belial's powers, and he would still have his human body.

Indeed, Virgil was to blame. The damned liar had set Samuel up from the beginning! Even his subordinate had been told not to expect new orders from Samuel going forward. Instead, the man revealed that Virgil had moved to the next stage of his plan, which apparently involved cozying up with the king and queen of Ek' Balam.

Samuel learned that the new underground lair was teeming with spawn. Supposedly, Virgil hoped to deal with this menace by convincing the country's two monarchs to fund the men and equipment to clear out the area and complete the tunnel. In return, he promised untold riches on the other side.

Samuel shook his head. It was amazing how often that story worked. All the world's leaders were apparently greedy and corrupt enough to fall for it. Leah had not been lying when she taught him that mankind was despicable.

At the end of the interrogation, Samuel removed the man's head. He did not want to risk ruining the fun by alerting Virgil prematurely. He made the crime scene look like the work of an occult sacrifice to further muddy his involvement. Even if Virgil's own men discovered the man's twisted corpse, they would have no reason to link it back to Samuel.

At least Samuel's half-demon body included some wondrous new abilities. For one thing, he could ride on air currents like a bird. He could also blend into shadows like a wraith, or look directly through walls of stone from great distances. This last technique came in handy while searching for Virgil. He wanted to wait for just the right moment before sweeping in for the kill.

The new Samuel knew only vengeance. At this point, it was probably the only thing keeping the Ahriman at bay. Virgil's betrayal had destroyed everything that Samuel had worked a lifetime to achieve. And for what? Samuel wrestled with this question, but it seemed the answer lay only with Virgil. Samuel's final pleasure would be to extract it. And then … he would let go of his spirit and allow the Ahriman to take him over completely.

After finishing his reconnaissance, Samuel descended upon Xlapak. He kept to the shadows, allowing him to pass by dozens of people without notice. He wormed his way through the passages of the king and queen's palace to the room where Virgil was staying. It was a suite on the west wing, and it looked as if the king and queen had been most kind. The room was luxurious, offering a wide open space and a canopy bed with red velvet sheets.

Asleep on the bed were two concubines and no Virgil. Somehow, the wily man had disappeared without a trace. But it mattered naught to Samuel. Sooner or later, his former colleague would return. In the meantime, Samuel would leave him a welcome gift. With razor sharp claws, he spilt the blood of the two strumpets. It was almost fitting, having their insides match the pillows.

Now, it was just a matter of patience. Samuel shrank back into the shadows, thinking of the time that he and Virgil Garvey had first spoken in length.

* * *

~.~

 _Thirteen Years Ago_

* * *

A cool breeze brushed across Samuel's face, and a love song between two starlings nestled in his ears. Yet he awoke with a coughing fit, his lungs irritated by pasty soot. Ink colored phlegm coated his throat, but he hawked and spit it out.

His mind played back the struggle with his parents, along with the fire that burned them alive. But the only part that truly squeezed a tear from his eye was the brief look of shock across Camilla's face the moment that Manuel wrenched the life from her body.

More tears appeared, and Samuel allowed himself to weep. It was for more than the death of his only friend. He also wept for his pitiful life and the monstrous parents that had never given him a sense of love or belonging. They had caged and mistreated him. Everything about them had been cruel.

But, somehow, fate had spared him from joining their fiery death. And he wondered why … and how? Everything contained in the cabin had been incinerated by the fire. And yet, he awoke within the pile of ash, completely unharmed. A gust of wind still fed a few of the embers, proving that the prior night had not been his imagination.

He searched the area, overturning a few planks of burnt wood that had once belonged to the roof. Underneath the third charcoal colored board he noticed a dark stump, which resembled his father's arm. In fact, it had once belonged to Manuel, but now there was nothing left attached to it. It reached out of the ash, as if still clinging to life. Or, perhaps, it wanted to drag Samuel down to the Burning Pits along with his father.

Either way, it would not get its wish. Leah and Manuel were gone—and good riddance to both of them! Camilla's murder was just one of many to rogue wizards like them. They were terrible people who raised their son to be the same way. But now, Samuel was finally free.

Free to weep a little longer. He found a spot on the grass and let it all out. It felt good, almost liberating. After years of being denied this simple thing, he finally had the freedom to indulge in sorrow. As for what to do next, he pushed that burden aside to experience the much needed tears. They gave him reprieve, which he wanted to milk for as long as he could.

So he wept until his eyes stung from dryness. When he finally looked up from the clump of grass that had been the focus of his self-pity, he yelped with surprise. A man stood only a few paces away.

"Please, don't stop on my account," the man offered in a shockingly lighthearted voice, as if completely unaware of the nearby smoldering ruins of the cabin. "It looks like you needed that."

Samuel stared in disbelief. "Uncle Virgil? What are you doing here? Am I imagining it?"

Virgil joined Samuel on the grass. "Easy, Sam. You're not crazy. In fact, I traveled all this way to speak with your parents, but it looks like they met with a bit of an accident."

Samuel's lip trembled. "It … it was my fault. I did it. And … and I'm not sorry about, either!"

"Tell me what happened," Virgil offered, stretching his legs and making himself comfortable. "Please. Start from the beginning."

It felt crazy confiding in this near-stranger, but Samuel could not think of a reason to object. Virgil obviously meant no harm, and it felt therapeutic for Samuel to get the experience off his chest. For years, his parents had denied him any social interaction. Even Uncle Virgil had given him no more than a hello the few times he visited. Manuel or Leah always rushed him to the next room before Samuel could say two words.

So Samuel confided, telling him everything. When he concluded his story, Virgil still looked rather calm. "I see." A long pause, then, "Of course, I don't blame you."

Samuel's jaw went slack. "Really?" He figured that killing one's parents should have been a cardinal sin. Then again, perhaps there was an exception for rogue wizards. Perhaps disposing of them was like doing the community a favor. A part of Samuel felt that taking a person's life was wrong no matter what, but when it came to his horrible parents … perhaps they deserved to die.

Virgil's wry smile seemed to agree. "Now, I wouldn't recommend offing every fellow who rubs you the wrong way, but I kind of figured this might happen. You have some wondrous powers, Sam. Sooner or later, they were bound to manifest."

A strange sensation stirred in Samuel's gut. It was a mixture of fear and giddiness. On one hand, he was delightfully curious about any kind of special powers. But at the same time, he feared how they might manifest in the future. What might he do the next time someone got in his way? Would he hurt them? Would he hurt innocents, too?

Virgil seemed to read the words written on his face. "Manuel and Leah never told you, did they?"

"Told me what?" Samuel wondered.

"That they weren't your real parents. Or that you're special."

The emotions stirred again, but this time Samuel was not quite as surprised with the reveal as he thought he would be. Sure, it was an incredible revelation. But then again, Manuel and Leah had never treated him like a son. They treated him more like a new cadet—one they were molding for their own purposes.

"How am I special?" he asked. "Are my powers … good? Or are they bad?"

The blond-haired man chuckled. "Ho-ho, nothing's wrong with you, Sam. You inherited your powers from your true father. You're special because of Him."

Samuel practically sprung upward. He had so many questions. "Real father? Who is he? And why am I only now hearing about him? Why did he leave me with two psychopaths instead of raising me himself?" He gestured at the blackened hand reaching out of the ash pit.

"Settle down, now," Virgil advised. "One question at a time. First, Leah and Manuel were not ideal parents, but there was no one else. We needed people who were trained to watch over you and care for your special needs. They were uniquely qualified to raise and educate you—and train you to become the warrior-wizard you needed to be."

"What are you saying?" Samuel demanded, still feeling hurt and confused. "That my father was too busy to do it himself? That the best he could find was a couple of criminals?"

Virgil scoffed. "Criminals are defined by society, Sam. The only laws your guardians broke were man-made—laws that were as broken as society itself. They only existed because men in power wrote them to protect other men in power. You can hardly blame Manuel or Leah for wanting to survive in a world where privilege is reserved to only a select few."

Samuel hardly knew what to say. He had always assumed that the laws of the world were created because they made sense. He remembered Leah's teachings about moral depravity, but he had always assumed that it was isolated rather than endemic.

"Besides," Virgil continued, "your real father is in trouble. He couldn't have raised you, though I'm sure He would have wanted it. Instead, He appointed you with guardians to prepare you for the day when you and I might help Him."

Samuel was still confused. "Is my father in prison or something?"

Virgil grinned and shook his head. "No, Sam. Your father is trapped between worlds."

Samuel shook his head. "I don't understand."

Virgil smiled. "You are Nephilim, Sam. And your father … is a god."

Samuel's heart raced, but his mood darkened, and he bared his teeth. "I hope you didn't think that you could cheer me up with stupid stories!" He stood up, ready to give Virgil a piece of his mind. "I lost a friend last night. And my parents are dead! What makes you think you could sit there and treat me like I'm some sort of child!"

Uncle Virgil also rose to his feet. "Calm down, Sam!" For once, he looked deadly serious. "You just spent a night in a furnace hot enough to melt lead. If that's not proof enough of your powers, then I don't know what is."

Samuel stopped and thought about it. But, being the offspring of a god should have been difficult for anyone to keep secret for so long, even his parents. But could it be possible …?

"You said my father was trapped," Samuel reminded. "Trapped between worlds. What does that mean?"

Virgil's calming smile returned. "That's better. Come on. Let's sit, Sam." He returned to his spot on the ground. "I know it's a lot to process, but you need to understand what I'm telling you."

Samuel was still unsure. So much ran through his head. Just learning that he had a father was news enough, but learning that his father was a god … it was just too much!

"Only you can save your father, Sam," Virgil pled. "There are more people like me and your former guardians. We pledged ourselves to your father's cause, and we're here to help you. But, for the most part, the future is up to you."

The weight of that responsibility felt heavy. "What do you mean? Why me?"

"Sit, Samuel. Please. I'll tell you."

Samuel returned to the grass while the blond-haired wizard began his tale. "Did Leah ever teach you about the Omega War?"

Samuel nodded. "Yeah, but not much. All I remember is that it involved powerful demons known as the Ahrimen, which attempted to destroy the world. In the end, a band of wizards ended up defeating them."

"Not wizards," Virgil clarified. "Your father was the one who faced these demons, and he trapped them inside a set of gemstones known as the sunstones."

Samuel was enthralled. "How?"

Virgil chuckled. "Perhaps someday you can ask him."

A breath escaped from Samuel's lungs. Life suddenly had new meaning. He had so many questions. What to ask first? "Where did the Ahrimen come from?"

Virgil pointed up, to the sky.

Samuel gasped. "From the Heavens?"

Virgil nodded. "Yes. Your father came from there, too. There are vast realms beyond this one, Sam. So much more than what men on Gaia will ever comprehend."

"Wow …." The word formed on Samuel's lips, but no voice came out. "So my father took on these demons all at once?"

Virgil squinted. "Well … he joined with humans on this planet, and together they entered into an epic battle. That's what the stories refer to when they describe the Omega War."

The excitement in Samuel's gut was like nothing he had ever felt before. "Tell me, Virgil. Tell me everything!"

Virgil took a deep breath, but it ended in a sigh, and his expression fell. "Unfortunately, the story behind the story does not have a happy ending. Once your father defeated the Ahrimen and trapped them within the sunstones, his allies turned against him."

Samuel's glee faded. "What? How …?"

"Rather than thank your father, they saw him as an unwelcome visitor. So they banished him to a nearby Universe known as the Zohar."

Only moments ago, Samuel had been dispirited over his own insignificant problems. But now, he came to realize that his father's situation was all the more profound.

"How could they do that?" He wanted to understand how mankind could be so cruel. "How could they banish someone who saved them?"

He was angry, but Virgil merely shook his head. "They were distrustful, Sam. They feared your father's powers and believed that He would want to rule the planet in their place."

"But … didn't he? I mean, he earned it, right?"

"No." Virgil's eyes held a certain sincerity and longing. "Your father wasn't like that. He has His own kingdom. Up there." Once again, Virgil pointed at the sky. "He wanted to give Gaia back to its people, but instead they betrayed him. That's the kind of world we live in."

The injustice stung deeply. Samuel clenched his fists.

"Wait until you experience the true wickedness of this world," Virgil promised. "Every kingdom out there is ruled by greedy kings and vain queens who hoard their riches and leave little for the rest of us. Manuel and Leah were victims of this injustice. They never deserved to be outcasts, but they became ones anyway. And they grew bitter because of it."

For the first time, Samuel actually felt guilty for his parents' deaths. He had misunderstood their pain, which had been a symptom of the world around them. And, sadly, it was too late to bring them back. The same went for Camilla. The only thing left for Samuel was the ties he had with his one true father.

"Could I … could I speak with my father?" he wondered.

Virgil looked apologetic. "I'm sorry, Sam. Truly, I am. But your father does not exist in the physical realm."

"You mean, he's like a ghost?"

Virgil nodded. "That's … kind of accurate. However, I'm able to sense His spirit, and he speaks through me on occasion."

"So … you're kind of special, too," Samuel concluded.

"That's right," Virgil agreed.

Samuel took in another deep breath. Overnight, everything had changed. His whole life suddenly took on a whole new meaning. No wonder Manuel had pushed him so hard to become a better wizard.

"So what do we do now, Virgil?"

The blond-haired wizard smirked. "We're finished here, Sam. I'll explain how we're going to help your father, but right now you need to get cleaned up and ready for a long hike."

Samuel felt renewed energy and excitement. He had no idea what lay ahead, but he was eager to tackle it. "Where are we going?"

"To the capital," Virgil answered. "I have some contacts inside the Angkorian military, and I think I can get you recruited."

Once again, Samuel was confused. "You want me to join the military? What about all those things you said about the wickedness of mankind's kingdoms?"

Virgil sighed. "Unfortunately, it's a necessary step. My plan requires us both to rise to positions of power. But, it's not for us to help mankind. Rather, it's so that we can use them."

Virgil had captured Samuel's interest. He waited to hear what else the blond-haired wizard had to say. But instead, Virgil was back on his feet, dusting himself off.

"Let's go," he suggested. "We have a long road ahead, but I'll explain on the way."

Samuel beamed. He was eager to leave his old life behind. The heap of ash that used to be his cabin—which represented years of oppression from those who called themselves his parents—still smoldered. He was happy to leave it behind. Soon enough, the last of the embers would fade away.

* * *

~.~

 _Evening of Denuo, Seventh Day of Duskmoon_

* * *

Learning about his true father meant everything to Samuel. It was like finding a missing piece of himself that he never knew existed. It made him feel whole, captured his heart, and provided him with a reason to flight. Over the years, he put his complete and total commitment toward resolving his father's plight.

This included training within the Angkorian military, dedication to the ranks of the Gnostic order, and loyalty to King Richard. Samuel despised the late king, but he performed Richard's tasks at Virgil's bequest, pledging himself to his cohort's contrived and complicated plan, no matter what it took. When necessary, he killed, terrorized, and lied—all so that, one day, he would reach Axismundi and cast the spell that would return his father to the physical realm.

He trusted that he alone was special—that the fate of a god rested in his hands—and he never stopped believing it. But now, his faith was shaken, and he questioned everything. Was his father even real? Had Virgil made Him up?

Perhaps Abraham was right. Virgil had certainly grown more vicious and conniving over the years. He could have been exposed to Lord Zagan and changed his allegiance, but … he could just as easily have lied to Samuel from the beginning. His story of thirteen years ago could have been a complete fabrication. Samuel imagined being Virgil's patsy: another pawn that could be destroyed when its usefulness ran out. And it created a white-hot fire that spread across the inside of his chest.

He realized that in order to wield Lord Zagan's powers for so many years, Virgil had to have possessed a moonstone … and all the pieces fell into place. Samuel had his answer for why Virgil had such great and wondrous powers and how he could have maintained his convincing lie for so many years. The moonstone could have provided a cure for Belial's corruption. It had literally been within reach the whole time! And yet that contemptable _fink_ had kept it from him!

Samuel took a deep breath to calm himself. True, he was only running off of speculation, but the answers would soon be within reach. Samuel needed to know the truth. For once in his life, he needed to know where he stood, for better or worse. And, if his whole life turned out to be a lie … if all his hard work and efforts were a mere part of Virgil's greater ambitions … then he would have no more reason to cling to life. Samuel would destroy his betrayer and give Belial free reign of his body to destroy the pitiful world of Gaia.

The thought kept him going for hours while he waited. And then, by late evening, Virgil finally arrived. He looked quite pleased with himself, probably from dining with the king and queen to further cement his infestation inside their kingdom. They were probably eating out of his hand already. When the villain finally shut the door and cast his light upon the chamber, Samuel was pleasantly surprised by the look on his face.

Virgil glared at the dead bodies draped across his bed, as if someone had left him a harem of goats. Wide eyed and bloodless, he searched blindly about the room.

"You've been living it up, haven't you?" Samuel's spoke from the darkness. "And here I thought you had come to Ek' Balam on business."

Virgil's expression relaxed. "It's you. You're alive."

"No thanks to you!" Samuel snarled as he stepped out of the shadows. He was dangerously close to slaying the twit on the spot. "You jeopardized everything I've worked so hard to achieve. And you're about to learn the consequences …."

Virgil asserted his legendary nonchalance. "Don't blame me for your misfortune. I did my part."

Samuel's anger overflowed. He drew from Belial's powers, summoning a demonic snake that coiled around his body, its dark leathery flesh surrounded by unholy flames from the Burning Pits themselves. Samuel commanded this creature to attack, and with fangs of death and disease that would have rotted the flesh off another man's bones in an instant, it dove at Virgil.

But the blond-haired wizard brushed it aside like a gnat. Instantly, the snake dissolved into a pool of ash. Virgil then quenched the flames that would have otherwise burned the royal suite to a cinder.

"You're no match for my powers, Sam," he teased. "And I can't have you torching the king and queen's palace. I still need to keep up appearances."

Samuel howled with rage. Next he summoned thick black-and-red tendrils of evil that rose from the floor and encircled him. He bathed in their infernal glory, gathering as much power as he dared, building his strength until his body was about to burst—and then he unleashed them all at once.

The deadly torrent of heat and crushing force, greater than the heart of a volcano, rushed toward Virgil. The blast engulfed him in a hot blue flame, throwing back a scorching blast of wind and heat toward Samuel's monstrous face. But by the time it faded, the room was back to its original state, and Virgil was unharmed.

Samuel bellowed curses. It seemed that fate was intent on robbing him of his only reprieve. Sweet vengeance was wasted on Virgil Garvey. The man was just too powerful.

"Stand down, Sam," the contemptable man ordered. "This is not what your father would have wanted."

Samuel tried to leap at his enemy. He wanted to tear him apart with his own bare hands! But he was frozen … and fighting was no use. Virgil had him trapped! It took every ounce of effort to keep calm.

He spoke through clenched teeth. "What would you know about my father? Either he doesn't exist, or you betrayed us both!"

"What are you implying? I never lied about your father," Virgil insisted.

"Don't deny it," Samuel growled. "I know all about your treachery. Libicocco revealed how you used my apprentice to lure my brother directly to _Zounds_. And I know about your moonstone, too. You kept it from me all these years, even when I could have used it to staff off the Ahriman's corruption. And now look at me."

He screamed with all his rage. " _Look at me!_ "

A giggle escaped the madman's lips.

Samuel had never felt so disgraced. "You find it funny?!"

"Not your condition," Virgil responded. "Only your propensity for melodrama. Besides, you have it all wrong, Sam. I did you a favor. While you attempted to undermine my decisions with asinine ideas that would have wasted valuable time, I brought your brother and the Pisces Stone to you. Sure, I had to deceive you with a few white lies, but you easily had everything you needed to defeat him: the world's greatest battleship, the power of the Sagittarius Stone, and Libicocco, too. Yet you still failed."

The shame was too great. Samuel felt humiliating defeat. "So that's it then? You would hold me in chains of magic while you insult my intelligence?" He tried again to break free, but to no avail. "Go ahead and destroy me, then! Just spare me the insults."

Virgil rolled his eyes. "Sure, Sam. I'll destroy you, if that's your wish. Of course, you're right about the moonstone. I've had it for a long time. However, there was always a good reason why I never revealed it to you."

Samuel could barely stand the sight of this traitor. He turned away. "Why bother revealing it now? Do you expect me to beg for answers, just so you can feed me more nonsense? Nothing you say means anything at this point."

Virgil shrugged. "Fine. You seem to believe that I have no credibility. But, what if you heard it directly from your father?"

A spark of excitement took life in Samuel's chest, but he extinguished it quickly. "I've had enough of your tricks."

"No tricks," Virgil admitted, "There are restrictions, but I can create a projection that will allow you to speak with Him directly."

Samuel resisted the allure. "No. You lie. If you truly knew a way to reveal my father, you would have done it already."

Virgil grunted. "Just listen, Sam. Our proximity to Axismundi makes it possible. However, it will take a lot out of me. I'll be vulnerable. But, if it eases your concerns, then I'll do it. I still need your help, Sam. Your brother's a lost cause, but you and I have worked too hard to stop now."

Samuel was intrigued, but then it occurred to him. "You're only bartering with me because you realize that a battle against Belial would destroy this entire fortress. Thus, it would ruin your chance to find Axismundi."

Virgil bared his teeth. "Yes, you fool! I still need the king and queen to show me the way to the mines, and until they do, I need to maintain my cover. But that doesn't mean I'm going to trick you. Just let me perform the summoning, Sam. And if you aren't convinced when you see it, then go ahead and take my life! I'll be too fatigued by the spell to fight back."

Samuel thought about it. It was not a bad bargain, and he had rather little to lose. His instincts were still convinced that Virgil was lying. But he had come to Xlapak in the first place for revenge, and Virgil's proposal gave him that chance. If Samuel felt even a hint of a hoax from the summoning, he would do far worse to Virgil than merely take his life.

On the other hand, if Virgil spoke the truth … if he could face his father, a true god … the possibility was just too seductive to pass up.

"Release me, first," Samuel demanded. "Then we'll see."

Virgil glared at him. For the very first time, he looked hesitant, and Samuel enjoyed every moment of it. Still, Virgil did as requested. Samuel felt the magical grip disappear, and he approached his old cohort, straining hard to resist the urge to kill.

"Don't do anything stupid," Virgil warned.

"Get on with the summoning before I lose the willpower to hold back," Samuel threatened.

Virgil took a deep breath before turning his back to Samuel. He then knelt on the floor and began an incantation. Samuel did not recognize the words. They were clearly not part of the usual lexicon for black wizards. But they did something. The lights dimmed, and tiny gray motes floated upward from Virgil's back.

And then, all of a sudden, a bright white light flooded the room.

Samuel stumbled backward, overwhelmed by the brilliance. He soon felt himself floating, as if the floor had dropped out beneath him. He extended his leathery demon wings to stabilize himself, forcing his eyes open, even as blinding light inflicted an almost physical pain upon him.

"What have you done to me!" he shouted, cursing himself for falling into another of Virgil's traps.

But, instead, a booming yet soothing voice answered him. "Be at peace, my Son."

The voice penetrated his very heart. There was no way to describe it, no denying it. It was sublime, conveying both peace and serenity. The Divine. It belonged to a god in every way imaginable. Samuel truly felt humbled and diminutive in its presence.

At last, his feet touched down, and his eyes adjusted to a solid white floor. It was hardly remarkable, except for the reflection contained within it. Samuel's eyes slowly followed the reflection to its source, holding his breath as he did so.

Towering above him was a figure as large as the sky itself. It had the shape of a humanoid, but its face was hidden behind a golden light that shined forth with utmost luminance. Six feathery wings of pure effulgence extended from the being's back, each one dazzling with radiance and majesty.

Samuel fell to one knee and prostrated himself. "My Lord!"

"Rise," the being commanded.

Samuel bolted to his feet and stood, muscles frozen.

The being spoke only two simple words. "Begone, demon."

Samuel felt his body change. It happened quickly, and it made him feel lighter … more himself. He looked down and saw two hands had had been returned to human form. He reached for his face, feeling every contour of human jaw and cheeks. Belial's form was thoroughly gone!

But, along with it came shame. Only moments ago, Samuel had abandoned his faith. He felt as though he had insulted the divine being floating above him.

"Forgive me, Father," he begged. "I do not deserve—"

"My Son," the booming voice silenced all apologies. "A good father does not abandon his child, even when that child has sinned. Behold, you are the prodigal son, and you have returned with faith stronger than ever before."

Samuel wiped a tear from his cheek. He nearly burst with gratitude. "Yes, Father. And I shall never doubt again!"

"I am proud," the being stated. "Your faith has allowed me to banish Belial's corruption. However, my blessing is only temporarily. Your first task shall be to find a moonstone to sustain your freedom from the Ahriman."

"What about Virgil?" Samuel asked. "Could I not use his moonstone?"

"Nay, my son. The one he possesses is unique and must remain with him at all times. However, I will reveal another."

Samuel felt a strange sensation. Just as his father had promised, the location of a moonstone appeared in his head, as if he had always known it. He felt such joy and relief. His problems were lifted! One moment, he was on the cusp of losing body and soul to the Ahriman, but now he was back to fulfilling his dream. Even better, he had finally made contact with his father, which he had craved for so long. The divine being had praised him for his faith. There was no greater satisfaction.

"What then, Father?" He was eager to please. "I'll do everything you ask and more."

The being looked pleased. "That is because you are an obedient son, who shall be well rewarded. When you complete your mission, my servants will provide you with further instruction. Go forth, and soon we shall leave this world together and reign supreme in my kingdom in Heaven."

What that said, the spirit disappeared and the light faded.

Before Samuel knew it, he was back in the royal suite. Virgil was nearby, rolled over and passed out from exertion. Samuel no longer felt any rage against him. With Belial's departure, his mind was clear, and he regained control over his emotions. He was amazed. Virgil had delivered, as promised. At last, Samuel was willing to let go of his anger regarding the _Zounds_ incident.

As for where to go next, it was time to set off for the moonstone. He let Virgil be and left the room.


	41. Chapter 10, Part IX

.

* * *

 **Part IX**

 _Morning of Tertius, Eighth Day of Duskmoon_

* * *

Kane sat at the edge of his cot aboard the _Heron_. Bram's ship was en route to Maurice Vance's archeological site and sailed alongside a convoy of frigates, generously provided by the great Khan Daria. Meanwhile, Kane embraced his solitude. The gentle swaying of the ship, guided by mighty ocean waves, provided a respite from his troubles.

During his alone time, he stared into his hands, mesmerized by their callused fingertips and jagged nails, which seemed to have permanent flecks of dirt along the edges. Those hands had seen a lifetime of hardship … hardships that had almost broken him on many occasions.

When he was young, he had used those hands to pull weeds from a vegetable garden. By the end of the day, his hands ached. He had little to show for all the backbreaking work, but it was enough to save him and his mother from going hungry multiple times. Later in life, when he trained with the Templars, he had used those hands to climb up rock faces and sneak along riverbeds. The Templars pushed their cadets until their hands bled, and Kane was no exception. He bandaged them at night, until the Templars forced him to take off the wrappings and rebuild the calluses each day. Finally, when he had served aboard _Zounds_ as Samuel's henchman, those same hands had become murder weapons.

Rosa had eventually prevailed and saved Kane's life, but he sometimes wondered if she really should have. He had recently awoken from a recurrent nightmare, in which his weathered hands had once again tightened around Rosa's neck, squeezed, and stole the life away from her. As her face turned red, her eyes rolled back, and she expelled her last breath, he'd wake up, weeping like a child.

Of course, Kane had been a different person, back when Rosa was Samuel's prisoner. Or, rather, he had been the same person, except ruled by emotions far too powerful for his body to control. These Deviants dominated him no longer, but they were still inside of him. They were his worst parts, personified … magnified … but now dormant. Although, perhaps they still existed in some way, exposed only in the depths of his Subconscious.

He had hoped his reawakening would have banished the Deviants forever, but his recent dreams proved otherwise. He shuddered to think that such wickedness still remained, but if they did, his experiences over the past few days had surely been the cause that coaxed them to the surface. In spite of that, he wasn't afraid. Because now had the ability to suppress it.

In that moment, he thought of his mother. Not the monster she had become, but his pristine memory of her before her tragic reconditioning. This memory had become a sort of lifeline back to reality whenever he started to doubt. He watched that vision look down on him with nothing but love and adoration, and he knew that it would always protect him from future temptations.

Rosa had gone through a lot of trouble to give him this wonderful gift. Even though he had tried to kill her … even though she had been given a chance to flee _Zounds_ and leave him behind … she still went back and selflessly fought to save him. He had done her and Bram such harm, yet she had found forgiveness and had given Kane a second chance.

Although, over the last few days, he felt like he was squandering that gift. Instead of seizing his opportunity to turn his life around, he shut himself inside the _Heron_ , spending his time staring at his hands and struggling to understand his purpose. Initially, he had been excited—even elated—to embark on a journey with Bram to defeat the Ahrimen and save Gaia from its eroding contact with the Zohar. Unfortunately, his enthusiasm had since diminished. While Bram still tried very hard to acknowledge Kane as a friend, the rest of the crew surely did not.

Kane had expected Rosa to be different, but she also kept her distance. After his trial before Bram's crew at Dorestad, she started avoiding him. Perhaps her intention had always been to expose his story and let Quon and Cedric make up their own minds, but he had expected that she might continue to come to his defense until the others came around. Then again, why would she? Kane meant nothing to her. It was only natural for her to move on.

Not to mention that Rosa still bore the Pisces Stone, which came with its own mental burdens. Supposedly, Maurice's figurine was supposed to protect her from the Ahriman's corruption. However, even with the old wizard's charms, Kane still found her occasionally staring into empty space, looking withdrawn. She seemed to be in some kind of trance or internal conversation, as if fighting to remain sane. Kane respected her need for space, and he kept his distance, too.

Meanwhile, the rest of the crew avoided Kane entirely. Quon had an especially barbed chip on his shoulder, never saying a word, even when Kane crossed his path. Kane knew the Kenju Master had come from a background of honor and discipline, and he probably saw Kane's condition as self-inflicted. Perhaps it had been. Kane regretted his choices over the years that led him to such a sad state, but that knowledge made it no easier to accept the hostile environment aboard Bram's ship.

As for Cedric, the craftsman was a nice enough man, but he had his own prejudices. Unlike Quon, Cedric presented a polite outward appearance, often smiling when making eye-contact, as if to suggest a positive rapport. Unfortunately, his gaze would quickly shift, and he would flee the scene, as if embarrassed or unprepared to make further contact.

Kane buried his face in his calloused hands. He just needed one ally aboard the lonely vessel to feel welcome, and Bram was supposed to be that man. Unfortunately, the Knight was perpetually absent, most likely planning with Maurice Vance on how to find a moonstone for Rosa. Sadly, it seemed that Bram wasn't quite ready—or quite willing—to have Kane tag along. So the former Templar remained upon the _Heron_ , wearing a mantle of overbearing isolation and wondering how much simpler it might have been if he were still serving Samuel.

At least Bram's brother had always been consistent in his behavior. The Gnostic had been a cruel and difficult person to work for, and he had demanded the utmost competence and loyalty. But, at least Kane had always known where he stood, an aspect he missed in the latest arc of his pitiful life.

An explosion erupted in the distance, shaking Kane from his depressive reverie. He bolted to his feet, wondering what had happened. He heard a few curses further down the halls of the lower deck, loud enough to follow to their source. His search ended in the engine room, where a soot-covered, irate craftsman was putting out a small fire while kicking one of the engine components.

"What happened?" Kane cried, worried about the fire, as well as the health of the man who had apparently taken the brunt of a small explosion. "Do you need help?"

A few coughs and curses later, Cedric responded. "No! I mean, I'm fine."

He grabbed a soiled rag from a hook on the wall to put out the rest of the fire and then proceeded to wipe his face. It left a clean streak over his eyes, nose, and mouth, but the remainder of his face was still soiled beyond recognition.

"This damned furnace is badly in need of maintenance," he explained. "Once these things get dirty, it blocks the airflow and creates a backflow of soot. And before you know it … _poof!_ " He spread his arms widely in a caricature of an explosion.

Kane cocked his head sideways. "Why even run the engines in the first place? We're on water. Can't we just sail using the wind?"

Cedric chuckled. "And keep up with the Maldenese fleet? Ha! Fat chance. We'd be leagues behind if I hadn't reconfigured the turbines for hydro-propulsion."

"Oh." Kane scratched his head, wondering what kind of modifications the craftsman had made to enable underwater propulsion. No wonder the engine was struggling. "Then … where is everyone? I figured they'd all have run down here by now."

Cedric huffed. "We're the only ones here. I think. Bram and the others are with Vance aboard his ship. They've been talking all morning."

"Yeah …." Kane had figured that might be the case. Once again, no one had asked him to come along. The _Heron_ needed Cedric as its pilot, but it seemed the others considered Kane much like useless cargo, at least when it came to planning next steps.

"I don't even know where we're going," he uttered under his breath.

"The Negara Archipelago," Cedric answered, clearly hearing what Kane had meant to keep to himself. He then turned his attention toward brushing some of the soot off his clothes, which was caked on so heavily it came off in piles.

"I see. Sorry," Kane apologized, feeling awkward. "I guess I'm not needed here, either. I'll just go."

"Rubbish, why not stay? It's no bother," Cedric insisted. "Go ahead. Sit down and visit for a while. Especially if you have nothing else to do." He gestured toward a stool in the corner.

Kane grabbed the stool, which was far undersized for his stature. He'd look silly sitting on it, so instead he set it back down and approached one of the structural beams near Cedric. Leaning against it for support, he squatted over the soot-covered floor, trying not to make contact with the filth below.

"You look troubled," the craftsman observed. "Why don't you tell me about it?"

Kane was taken aback. He hadn't expected Cedric to take an interest in his problems. Even so, the last thing he wanted was to suggest to the crew that he was having second thoughts about joining them.

"I, uh … have had trouble sleeping," he lied. "Not used to being at sea, I guess."

Cedric shrugged. "You'll get used to it, eventually. I find it helps to breathe at the same rate of the ship's rocking." He smiled widely, exposing a few of his back teeth.

Kane knew that old trick, too, but he wasn't interested in small talk. He wanted to know if Cedric knew anything useful. "What do you know about our destination? Did the others tell you anything?"

The craftsman pushed aside a few tools he had been using and gathered close to Kane. "It's not like it's a secret or anything. There's a series of islands to the east, most of them surrounded by shallow reefs. But, strangely enough, a deep ocean trench runs through the middle. Vance seems to believe there are ancient ruins at the bottom, and he thinks there might be a moonstone among them."

Kane was intrigued. He remembered Cedric speculating at one time that the moonstones had to exist outside the operating range of _Zounds'_ sensors. Otherwise, Samuel would have found them already. It seemed that a location at the bottom of the sea fit that description.

Kane asked the obvious question. "But … how would we get down there?"

Cedric chuckled. "I haven't the foggiest. But I suspect that's what Bram and Maurice have been discussing."

Kane nodded. "Gotcha."

He figured he had reached the limit of what Cedric knew, and if he really wanted to get a clear update, he'd need to find Bram.

It was time to wrap up the conversation. "Well, I should get going."

He was about to stand when Cedric placed a hand on his shoulder. "Not so fast."

Kane's guard went up at this invasion of his personal space, but he reminded himself that the craftsman meant no harm. His heartrate dropped as the craftsman explained himself.

"If we're going to become friends, you'll need to be honest with me," Cedric told him.

Kane didn't appreciate the implied accusation. "What are you talking about?" he demanded harshly.

Cedric cleared his throat but stood his ground. "Only that I had asked you earlier why you seemed troubled, and you told me some nonsense about not getting enough sleep. You can stick to that story, if you want. But if you want to feel like a member of the crew, you might consider that trust goes both ways."

Kane took another breath to calm his nerves. Again, the craftsman surprised him with his directness. Nevertheless, Kane figured he should answer. After all, it was just a simple question.

"Alright," he confessed. "If you want to know the truth, I've been feeling a bit left out. Seems like everyone has a job around here but me."

Cedric nodded in understanding. "I figured that might be the case."

Kane rolled his eyes at the uninsightful response. But the craftsman wasn't finished.

"We all have our roles," he explained, "and sometimes it takes a while to discover them. When I first joined with Bram, I also felt like the odd man out. I had no Grigori powers, like he did, nor any expertise in magic, like our friend Matthias—may he rest in peace. I lacked Quon's stealth, I was out of shape, clumsy with a weapon, and inexperienced. The only time I ever joined Bram in battle, it nearly killed me."

Cedric pulled up his shirt to reveal his scars. His entire stomach was like a piece of pink taffy twisted in knots. Kane's eyes widened. He had never seen scars like those.

"This was from a single spawn, which almost eviscerated me with its claws. If I'm guilty of anything, it's not lack of courage or conviction. Rather, it's because I tried to be something I'm not."

Kane scoffed. "I've trained all my life to be a soldier. If you're suggesting—"

"I'm sure you're far more capable than I am," Cedric interrupted. "And I wouldn't suggest you veer from your line of expertise. All I'm saying is that the crew hasn't figured out your role, yet. I felt like I needed to be at Bram's side, but it seems I'm more useful here, making sure the _Heron_ is well maintained. As for you, I'm sure the crew will come to appreciate your unique skills. There just haven't been a lot of situations in which your assistance has been warranted … yet."

Kane understood the craftsman's point. His problem was that he was impatient. "You're suggesting that I let Bram and Maurice do the strategizing, since that's what they're good at. Meanwhile, I should wait for them to call on me when they're ready."

Cedric nodded. "Precisely. I realize it's frustrating to sit idle for so long, but I have a feeling that, soon enough, you'll wish you were back in the safety of this ship. Especially if you find yourself facing one of the Ahrimen!"

Kane cracked a smile. "No doubt. I'm glad we had this chat, Cedric. You're good at feeling people out."

Cedric rubbed the end of his nose, covering the clean streak with a bit of grease. Kane found it almost comical.

"Thank you," the craftsman responded. "Although, in the spirit of honesty, we should probably address the other ogre in the room."

Kane's stomach churned. Cedric could only mean one thing.

"Perhaps we shouldn't," he suggested. "So far, this has been a pleasant conversation. Let's just leave it that way."

"And walk away with a false sense of accomplishment?" Cedric challenged.

Kane's eyes narrowed. After being confronted at Dorestad, he had grown sensitive of discussing his past crimes. There was no way to defend against what he had done. He was just hoping that someday he could get past it.

"What do you want me to say? Are you looking for another apology or something?"

The craftsman shook his head. "I try not to judge. We all have regrets, Mister Harding, whether or not we're brave enough to admit to them."

So now he wasn't brave enough? Kane was getting frustrated. "Easy for you to say," he accused. "I bet the worst thing you've done is step on a bug along the road. You have no idea what it's like to be hated … treated like I'm some kind of monster!"

The craftsman crossed his arms, and his gaze never wavered. "I'm not here to tell you that it'll be easy to change that, Mister Harding. You might have been at a vulnerable part of your life, but you still chose to hurt this crew to protect yourself. That made it personal, and forgiveness won't come easily. Or quickly. Even so, if you're honest and you end up being useful, I truly believe that sentiment will change."

Kane knew that Cedric was right, but it did little to raise his spirits. Essentially, he needed to be an asset in order to improve relations with the others. But that was impossible, since no one trusted him in the first place. He wondered if it might just be easier to leave and save everyone the grief of having him around.

Cedric's expression softened, as if he empathized with Kane's quandary. "Let me tell you a story."

"A story?" Kane wasn't in a mood to stick around and be lectured.

"Yes, indulge me," Cedric instructed.

Kane sighed and leaned his head back against the support beam. "Sure. Go ahead."

Cedric cleared his throat. "It takes place many years ago, long before I became Grand Craftsman. Not many people know this, but I never started out life with wealth or privilege. In fact, when I was in my twenties, I was quite poor, making ends-meat by designing steam engines for cargo ships. It was a very competitive business, and only the best engineers qualified for the bid."

Kane shifted to make himself more comfortable. It sounded like it might be a long story.

"I had this rival," the craftsman continued. "He was just as competent as I was, and one day I discovered that he had been competing for the same design. So I spent many sleepless nights thinking about how I might improve performance, burning efficiency, weight—all kinds of things, just to get the upper hand. But, on the night before I was set to present my work, my plans went missing."

Kane inched upward along the beam, now attentive and interested in Cedric's story. "You think this rival of yours stole your work?"

Cedric's lower lip protruded and his eyebrows raised in a thoughtful expression. "He was certainly capable of it. It wasn't as if I had lived in a secure part of town. He could have slipped into my apartment through an open window or bribed the landlord for a spare key. In this line of business, people played dirty to get ahead."

Kane felt bad for Cedric. Now he was invested in the story, and he wanted to know the outcome. "So what'd you do to the bastard?"

Cedric took in a deep breath. "Well, I confronted him about it. I was angry, and I threatened to involve the authorities. But I had no proof, and he called me out on that. I called him every name in the book, but in the end I had to withdraw my application for the bid."

Kane scowled. "That's a terrible story! The guy stole your bid and got away with it? Is that it?"

Cedric shook his head. "No, actually. Sure, my rival ended up getting the business, and I fostered some real resentment for quite some time. But, I survived, and there were other designs in the coming weeks. Then one day I found another vendor looking for something similar, so I raced to my apartment to start drafting some plans. It was still fresh in my head, you see. That's when I discovered the original design schematics in my paper drawer."

Kane shook his head. "What? I don't understand."

Cedric stroked his beard, emitting a fine dust of soot as he did so. "For weeks I had assumed that the paperwork was stolen, but actually, it had just been misplaced. I must have been so tired that night that I had put the schematics in my fresh paper drawer rather than my work drawer, and I never thought to look."

Kane practically laughed. The craftsman's antics were almost comical. To think that he was barely making ends-meat and never thought to search the rest of his apartment. And then there was the matter of his rival.

"So, you were angry with a guy for no reason?" Kane thought about the implications. "He must have been pissed when you accused him of theft."

"I'm sure he was, Kane, but here's my point." Cedric faced the former Templar looking more solemn than usual. "People carry judgments, and sometimes they're based on assumptions rather than facts. I made that mistake early in life, but I've since learned to keep an open mind and give people the benefit of the doubt."

Kane felt another stirring in his gut. But this time, it was more complex: a realization with hope mixed with apprehension. He understood what Cedric was trying to teach him. While Kane had truly done a great deal of harm, the people he had harmed were also prone to errors and assumptions in their judgments. This made Kane more hopeful that people like Quon might someday recognize his good intentions. Even so, he was also embarrassed to have taken so long to realize it.

"Thanks," he muttered, at a loss for words.

"Don't mention it," Cedric answered, "and don't get me wrong, either."

Kane gazed back at the craftsman. Again, his guard went up.

"I still don't trust you … yet. But I'm willing to let you earn my trust." Cedric extended a hand.

Kane accepted the offer and shook. It made him feel a bit better.

Just then, there was a knock on the wall, and Quon stuck his head inside the engine room. His gaze passed over Kane and landed on Cedric.

"We have arrived," he announced. "Master Vance has asked that you halt the engines and join the rest of us on the upper deck."

Cedric pulled down on a nearby lever, pausing only to dust himself off and straighten out his soiled and wrinkled shirt. The steam engine idled, and the ship slowed.

"Thank you, Quon," the craftsman responded. "I'll be up in a minute."

The Kenju disappeared, and Cedric turned to Kane. "Have patience with him," he suggested.

Kane nodded but said nothing.

Cedric took a few steps toward the door, but before leaving he turned back. "Are you coming?"

Kane had expected to be excluded from the meeting. "Do you think I should?"

"Yes," the craftsman answered succinctly. "I do."

He extended an arm again, and Kane took it. Cedric pulled the former Templar to his feet.

"When in doubt, take a risk," he suggested. "If the others don't want you around, they'll let you know. However, I don't expect that'll be the case this time."

Kane smiled as he walked alongside the craftsman on his way to the upper deck.


End file.
